


Subtle Unraveling

by StormyInk



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 18:10:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormyInk/pseuds/StormyInk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From animosity to grudging respect to a reluctant, ripening attraction, slowly but surely, humanity's strongest soldiers begin to unravel at their seams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Understanding Subtlety

 

It had been very subtle.

The way she crossed her arms and turned away whenever he spoke. The black glares he felt burning into his skull when she spotted him from a distance. The way she shifted her body protectively between himself and Eren or Armin. The way she left the table whenever he sat down.

Like she had this morning.

But he was anything if a keen observer. He'd noticed Mikasa's antagonism towards him since the first day.

Well, there was someone else who had the thoroughness he possessed, despite her deceivingly erratic behavior. "Don't think Ackerman likes you very much." Hanji observed astutely, her grin a little teasing as she sat across the table.

He drank his tea. "Does anyone?"

Hanji laughed a little, wiping the corner of her mouth of crumbs. "There's a difference, Levi. She looks at you the way you all look at titans. Hate-filled, enraged, a little blood lust." She shrugged as she swallowed another mouthful of her food. "Or, well, sometimes."

He took another sip of tea and looked out the window disinterestedly. "Sometimes?"

Hanji nodded, enthused by his slight encouragement. "Sometimes she looks at you as if she doesn't understand. Which, she obviously doesn't—I mean, who does really get you?—but she is  _like_  you. Sometimes I think that her dislike of you stems from that." She chewed thoughtfully. "You're both a bit aloof and protective. Intense and a bit intimidating. Ruthless fighters. You wrap up your emotions and hide them. She sees herself in you and it unsettles her the way people who don't like their looks hate looking in the mirror."

Levi thought for a moment. Were they really similar? He looked out the window to see Mikasa petting her horse stiffly. The horse shifted away and Mikasa scowled a little.

"You aren't intimidated by me."

She grinned at him. "That's because I know you're a softy."

Levi finished his tea and stood.

"Don't you want to hear the rest of what I have to say?"

Levi gave her head a sympathetic pat as he left the room.

* * *

 

"You aren't very comfortable around the horses."

Mikasa stiffened at the sound of  _his_ voice. So he'd noticed her uneasiness with the horses, she thought in irritation. She could ride and ride well, but she was always a bit nervous of the large beasts, afraid of a sudden kick or bite. They seemed to sense that about her, backing away when she reached for them.

Eren and Armin could hug them without qualm.

Levi leaned against the trunk of the tree and observed her for a few moments before he spoke again. "You aren't very comfortable around me, either."

She inhaled deeply. "No, I'm not."

"Are you petty enough to still be angry over that?" He lifted a brow at her superciliously. "Even the brat's forgiven me."

She lifted her head and looked at him head on. "You did what you had to to save him, and a part of me is grateful." She scanned his impassive features, the hardness of his jaw, his straight nose and narrow eyes. "You've even saved me. But it doesn't change the fact that I had to watch you beat Eren while he was helplessly chained."  _It was one of the worst moments of my life and…and I've had plenty._

He sighed drearily. "You really are like me."

She frowned and before she could ask he bent and grabbed a small sack, reaching into it. He walked over to her and grabbed her wrist, ignoring the way she stepped away. He turned her palm up and unclenched his other fist, pouring a handful of oats into her hand.

Startled, she held still.

The horse inhaled sharply and stepped forward, nuzzling their hands. Levi's pale long fingers remained firm around her wrist, holding it steady as the horse began to eat the oats off her palm. Mikasa watched the horse with a bit of trepidation, her pulse thrumming.

But it was gentle as it ate and after a few silent moments she relaxed and reached up with her other hand, stroking his mane soothingly.

"They feed off your energy. If you are calm and comfortable around them they'll be so around you. In order for you to establish a comfortable and calm aura with them you need to touch them more often, spend more time around them." The horse finished the oats and backed away, swishing its tail happily. "Try to make an effort to not see them as simple beasts. They'll be grateful for you effort. You'll work together much better if you attempt to understand each other a little more."

Still, he didn't release her hand.

She hadn't really realized how close they were standing.

She saw his gaze latch briefly onto her mouth.

"Thank you." Her voice felt a little raspy.

His grip tightened briefly but he nodded curtly.

She pulled away and he released her hand. He grimaced at the saliva coating his fingers. "This is disgusting."

She smirked a little, walking towards the retreating horse a little more confidently.

"Take it back before it shits everywhere, Ackerman."

Her smirk deepened as she tugged up her scarf. "Yes, Heichou."

* * *

As Levi scrubbed his hand, he let his mind wander.

Mikasa had her charm, he supposed. Her skin had felt soft, the slight impression of his fingers blushed red on her pale wrist. He recalled thinking he'd never seen eyes so large and dark, curiously mystifying.

He'd never really noticed her mouth much before either.

He sighed and dried his hands.

He hadn't thought he'd have such a strong impulse to pull her nearer.

But he'd seen her reaction to him. He'd felt her pulse quicken beneath his fingers, saw the way her soft pink lips parted as she inhaled. He saw the way she'd  _looked_ at him, heat wrapped in confusion.

Yes, her reaction had been subtle.

But he was most definitely a keen observer.


	2. Untangling Spider Webs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mikasa attempts to untangle Sasha from her web and gets tangled herself instead.

He'd been having a very long, tiresome day.

He felt grimy and sweaty, the weather a bit warmer than usual for this time of year. His cloak hung about his shoulders raggedly, shredded from when he'd sliced it free of a titan's grubby grip, his left arm feeling achy and rattled from the hard stroke of his blade. His side felt more than a little bruised and to top it all off he hadn't slept very well last night.

It'd been a mixture of things that had wracked his skull and kept him stirring. Nightmares, mostly; the gruesome sound of bodies being crushed and chewed, the bloody smears they were reduced to after they'd been clenched between titan fingers, their screams of pure terror and agony as they were eaten alive.

And yet as he'd tried to distract himself from these images there had been a sudden shift from the soup of skin, blood and bones to just pale, clean skin. The softness of it still clinging to his fingertips. The cries and screams had been replaced by the quiet, thrilling sound of her sharp intake of breath. The small curve of her parted pink lips making his pulse quicken for a much different reason.

And as he dangerously wondered what it might have felt like to have her lips part for him in his bed the pale sunlight had begun to bleed into the inky blue of the sky, and he'd felt the exhaustion grind on his bones.

He rubbed his hand over his face tiredly as he walked back to his quarters, breaking himself away from his irritating thoughts as the sun beat down on the nape of his neck.

And then he heard it.

Cackles and chokes of annoying, hyena-like laughter. The snaps and cracks of 3D maneuver gear and a few cries of dismay.

He was very tempted to ignore it. He could, really. He could take a hot shower and eat and perhaps be left alone long enough to catch up on his sleep. He could avoid all forms of human interaction and the thought seemed like bliss.

But then he heard a feminine voice call out.

"Mikasa, please—I can't get down!"

He debated only for a few more seconds before he moved.

Wearily, he began to walk around the corner towards the commotion.

He spotted Jean and Connie first, huddled together beneath a small cluster of tall trees. They were whispering quietly to one another, looking up at the branches with a sickening fascination, as if glitter was falling from them.

They continued to murmur. They hadn't noticed him standing behind them.

Yet.

"Look at where her hand is." Jean murmured to Connie in fascination.

Connie giggled a little dumbly. "Yeah, I see."

He looked up at the two women grimly.

Mikasa was balancing on a flimsy branch steadily, methodically undoing the buckles and straps on Sasha's legs. Sasha was gripping Mikasa's thighs, dangling upside down and looking a little frightened and woozy. She buried her face against Mikasa's hip and groaned.

Jean shifted forward. "Sasha is…very lucky."

Connie hummed.

"I'd do anything to be in Sasha's position right now."

He'd known of Jean's little infatuation on Mikasa—who didn't really—and it bothered him to no end that it was a similarity he also seemed to possess. He wasn't  _infatuated_ with the girl, but since they'd fed the horses she had never really strayed far from his thoughts. He kept recalling the feel and smell of her and his irritating, helpless reaction to it—and yet what had stunned him more than anything was that she had  _responded_ to him, also.

When was the last time someone had been so receptive of his touch?

When was the last time he'd wanted to touch anyone at all?

"If Sasha just turned a little to the left she could…" Jean murmured, a little breathlessly.

Irked—with Jean's words and his own thoughts—Levi finally spoke. "What are you brats doing?"

Jean and Connie whirled in place, their eyes comically wide. "H-Heichou!"

He waited.

Connie sputtered. "Sasha got tangled in the tree."

He felt a little more than exasperated. "I can see that, Springer. What I'm asking is  _how._ "

Jean scratched the back of his head, his words awkward and stilted. "She was trying to make a spider web with the 3D maneuver gear."

Connie desperately tried to choke down his laughter.

He almost sighed. "Why aren't you helping Ackerman?"

Connie was still laughing too hard to speak.

Jean cleared his throat, gesturing to Levi's gear. "We don't have our 3D maneuver gear, Heichou."

Levi looked up at Mikasa. "Neither does Ackerman."

"She…was the only one able to climb up the tree." Jean admitted, a slight blush on his cheeks.

He examined the tree again. It did look rather impossible to get up the tree without their gear. But if anyone could manage a seemingly impossible physical feat of strength and prowess it was Mikasa Ackerman.

He supposed he had better shoot up there but he wasn't quite sure his gear was in working order. As they'd returned it had begun to sputter and jerk.

Sasha gave a sudden sharp cry and they all looked back up.

Mikasa had finally freed Sasha from her entanglement and Sasha had slid down. She landed on the branch beneath Mikasa's feet and with the sudden added weight it snapped beneath them.

_Shit._

He ran forward—skidding to a stop when Mikasa grabbed a hold of Sasha's jacket collar and grabbed onto the branch above her head. She'd reacted quickly enough to save them both from the fall, carrying both their weight with one arm—but she was straining, and the branch she clung to looked about ready to crack any second, too.

"Hold still, Ackerman." He barked and she nodded grimly.

She was dangling in a rather nasty cluster of thin branches, and he scanned for a sturdy one about them quickly. He angled himself and shot up swiftly, landing lightly on a thick branch beneath them.

"Let her go."

Mikasa gave him a grim look and then released her grip on Sasha's jacket. Sasha gave a little screech as she fell through the air, landing on him heavily. He held steady, grunting and heaving her onto her feet beside him. She swayed and he had to grab her to keep her from toppling over.

"Heichou, I…I was upside down for a while."

He looked at her critically. She wasn't really able to stand on her own. He looked up to see Mikasa gripping the branch with two hands.

"Don't try to pull yourself up, Ackerman. That branch doesn't look too sturdy. Stay there until I can get Braus on the ground."

"I can get down on my own, Heichou."

He gave her a hard look. "Stay put." He shifted Sasha over his shoulder and swung them down, landing on the ground with a curse when she nearly fell. He barely managed to hold them both up. He glared at Jean and Connie. "Take her, Springer."

Connie scurried forward and lifted Sasha in his arms. "Hey Sasha."

She gave him a loopy grin. "I was a spider."

Connie gave her a tender smile. "Spiders don't get caught in their own webs."

She frowned in confusion. "They don't, do they?" She curled up a little. "Do spiders vomit?"

"What?"

"I'm going to vomit."

"Shit." Connie shifted from left to right frantically. "Heichou, I—"

"Take her to the medics." He looked back up at Mikasa. The damn spoiled brat was pulling herself up, the branch bowing beneath her weight dangerously. He angled himself to shoot up again. "I told you not to move, Ackerman."

He couldn't really tell from this distance but it looked like she was glaring at him again. He also thought he heard her muffle a few curses, though all he was able to decipher were two words that sounded like 'short' and 'ass'.

He had half a mind to leave her up there for a few hours when the branch suddenly broke.

And she was falling, cutting through the leaves and branches.

He shot up instantly, catching her in mid-air, her weight crashing onto him and throwing him off balance. His gear gave a thick sputter and it jerked, flipping them.  _Damn it._  The cables snapped taught as they hurled down and as he tried to shield her he felt Mikasa pull  _him_  forward.

They hit the ground hard, his knees and arms dragging across the ground as they skidded to a stop. She'd somehow managed to get beneath him but he'd cradled her head in his arms, feeling the blood sinking through his clothing and onto the rocks and grass beneath them. He was winded, his lungs aching, but he forced himself up on his arms.

She'd landed on her side, her head cradled in his hand.

"Ackerman."

Her eyes were shut, her inky lashes fluttering against her flushed pale skin.

"Ackerman?" He bit out, a bit worried when she didn't respond.

And then he saw the blood trickle down her temple.

"Shit," He slid his arms beneath her and heaved her up against his chest, ignoring the pain that shot through his arms.

Jean scrambled towards him. "I've got her, Heichou."

Levi glared at him. "What you can do is get your moronic friend Springer and tell whoever is on stable duty that  _you two_ will be shoveling horse shit for the rest of this damn year."

Jean fumbled and Levi continued to limp away.

Her head was dangling back over his arm. He shifted her up so that her head lolled into the crook of his shoulder, her soft, jagged pants brushing against his damp throat. The blood was trickling down the side of her face and he felt his stomach twist. Either she'd hit her head on a branch on her way down or he hadn't been able to shield her properly.

He hadn't expected her to pull him  _onto_ her.

_Why had she tried to protect him too?_

"You're a bloody idiot, Ackerman."

She looked up at him with soft black eyes. "I'm fine, Heichou."

He almost scowled. Of course she'd try to pretend she was fine. He  _felt_  the limpness of her body in his arms, however and knew she wouldn't be able to stand for the life of her.

"Shut up, Ackerman. I told you not to move. It was an order and you disobeyed it."

_You never bloody listen._

"I fell…" Mikasa's eyes were open and glazed, her little bewildered frown tugging at him. It was a little odd—and endearing—seeing such a powerful woman look like a child.

He nodded grimly. "I caught you."

She shut her eyes, looked a little dismayed. "Again?"

He smirked a little, remembering the time he'd saved her from the female titan. "Again."

* * *

Levi ignored the protests of the medics as he walked towards his bedroom. He'd just gotten some bloody scrapes, after all, nothing as severe as a possible concussion, anyway. He yanked off his jacket and shirt quickly, stepping into his shower. He let the hot water run over him for a few moments, wincing as all the slices and cuts throbbed over his body.

As much as he loathed admitting it he was worried. It seemed incredibly moronic that a soldier as skilled as Ackerman could have died from a stupid tumble down a tree. He was angry—almost  _enraged,_ really—that those idiots had taken it so lightly. He'd seen enough of his comrades die fruitlessly to know how fleeting life could be. He hadn't been able to save any of them—had  _let_  enough of them die for a cause to feel less than human.

To feel more than dead.

He'd seen her fall and felt that familiar, vicious twist in his gut—and he'd caught her, barely been able to prevent her skull from getting smashed when she had somehow managed to put herself beneath him the split second before they'd hit the ground.

And for what? Because some idiots were making _spider webs?_  She'd almost died for their sheer stupidity.

But she hadn't. And he'd saved her.

But for the few he had saved there were hundreds he hadn't. And he drowned in their blood every night. He raked his wet hair back with raw fingers.

The water was tinged red as it swirled down the drain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a short chapter & it was all from Levi's perspective. I hope you didn't mind. I sort of like (more than like, really) writing from his point of view. I hope I'm not screwing it up.


	3. Unsure and Unwell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi visits Mikasa while she is bedridden and finds that he can't quite keep his hands (and thoughts) in check.

She wasn't quite awake, but the muffled male voices lured her away from her slumber.

"And their condition?"

Mikasa, even half asleep, knew that voice.  _Levi?_ She was slow to wake; her lids heavy, her lashes fluttering as she heard the two men speak quietly.

"They're both fine, Heichou. They should be able to be released tomorrow. Well, at least Braus."

"Will she be able to shovel horse shit?"

"Wh-what?"

She heard him make a soft ticking sound of annoyance. "Shoveling horse shit. Will she be able to do it?"

She could hear the medic fumble for a response. "Ah, perhaps, not until the end of the week, Heichou."

Levi sighed. His next question was a bit hesitant but nonetheless wrapped in his usual cool tone. "And Ackerman?"

"Ah, I'm afraid she won't be able to shovel horse—ah, manure for—"

"Not that. I meant how is her condition? Does she have a concussion?"

Mikasa felt herself frown, her fingertips twitching over the stifling sheet over her. She forced her heavy lids open and looked about her. There was a bed beside her and Sasha was quietly asleep on it, her soft brown hair spread out across the pillow. She shifted her head to the right, squinting at the bright moonlight streaming through the window.

Had she really slept all day? And why was Levi here at this time, asking about her health?

"She doesn't have a concussion. Head wounds tend to be a little dramatic. However, her body is badly bruised. She shouldn't use her 3D maneuver gear or do anything strenuous for the next two weeks, to be safe."

 _Two weeks?_ With a pained grimace, she pulled herself up into a sitting position.

They both looked at her a little blankly.

She shut her eyes and inhaled deeply. "I'm fine." She swung her legs off the bed and paused when a wave of dizziness struck her.

"Mikasa, please—you are not well enough to—" The medic fluttered over her nervously.

"Thank you but I feel fine–"

"Ackerman," Levi bit out quietly. "Get back into bed."

Their gazes clashed briefly, and she jutted out her chin slightly. "I'm fine."

"Did I ask if you were?" He crossed his arms—his bandaged arms—and gave her a dark look. "Get back into bed, Ackerman. Or are you going to defy that order, too?"

She gritted her teeth together. "I need to go to the bathroom."

He grabbed a chair and pulled it up beside her bed, sitting in it and staring her down. "Go ahead. Make it quick."

She huffed a little. Was he really going to wait her out? She stood shakily. The medic stepped towards her but she held out a hand to ward him off. "I don't need help."

He nodded and she shuffled forward ungracefully, every muscle in her body throbbing and tightening against her will. She entered the small bathroom and shut the door, locking it for good measure. After relieving herself and splashing her hot face with cold water, she looked at her reflection grimly.

She was filthy. Her hair was limp and stiffened with dried blood, her skin looking bloodless and paper pale. She had deep purple shadows beneath her eyes, her lips roughly chapped.

She'd never really concerned herself with her looks, had never really put a conscious effort towards her appearance. It wasn't that she was  _adverse_ to it; it was simply that she had never given it thought. Really, how could she when she always ended up covered in sweat, dirt and blood?

She eyed the shower behind her and decided that crawling back into bed in her grimy state was something she couldn't tolerate. She tugged off the flimsy white gown and turned the water on, stepping in. Her breath caught as the water streamed over her overheated skin, her fingers rubbing the back of her eyelids soothingly.

Was it only because she felt dirty?

Or was it because she had felt unbearably self-conscious in her filthy state before Levi?

She drank a mouthful of water as her thoughts ventured into precarious territory. When the medics had tended over her Sasha had spoken rapidly, asking her if she was okay, asking for her forgiveness, thanking her profusely.

It had made Mikasa feel uncomfortable. Not only because it made her seem saint-like, but because she was far from it. She had saved Sasha—incompetently—for selfish reasons. If it had been anyone else up there she would have aided them anyway but seeing the way  _she'd_  dangled treacherously had made her stomach clench uneasily. She kept remembering her quirky little laugh and smiles, the way she'd hover over her when she ate, the way she wasn't intimidated or fazed by her aloofness at all.

And that was when she'd realized it.

She'd grown attached to Sasha.

She'd been determined to have only Eren and Armin preoccupy whatever was left of her mangled heart but this girl, with her innocence and childishness, with her terror and her bravery, with her unorthodox humor and methods, had wormed herself a place beneath her walls.

They'd become friends. And she didn't have many.

And then there was Levi.

When he'd caught her and his gear had jerked and sputtered she'd felt another wave of panic grip her. Hadn't he gotten hurt for her once before? Was she really going to let it happen again? She'd been overcome with a fierce need to shield him, to  _do_ something, and so she'd used her weight against him, forced her body beneath his to break his fall. They'd hit the ground, and she hadn't really been able to breathe or think, but when he'd lifted himself off her and called her name she'd felt so stupidly relieved that she'd succeeded in keeping him unharmed.

And that was when she realized something else.

Levi had wormed himself a place within her as well. Perhaps it was only her petty need to repay the favor, or her desire to show him that she was a worthy soldier because she'd fumbled in front of him one too many times to be acceptable, but she realized she wanted his recognition.

She shut the water off and reached for the bundle of towels stacked outside the door.

_"Did you really puke on the Heichou's boots?" Sasha had whispered mischievously._

_Mikasa tried to recall if she had. "I don't know."_

_Sasha giggled. "Connie said he took a whole hour in the shower."_

Mikasa smirked as she dried her bruised body. First she'd gotten horse saliva all over his hands. Now she'd retched onto his boots. While she may crave his recognition he must loathe her. He must associate her name with uncleanliness.

Reluctantly, she pulled her papery gown back on.

Why did she want to look clean and presentable to him now? What did she care if she was filthy and haggard before him? She'd never felt so painfully self-aware with anyone else.

She ran her fingers through her wet hair in a pathetic attempt to comb it.

This really was ridiculous. Opening the door determinedly, she stepped back into her room—and faltered.

He was asleep.

He was leaning limply onto the back of the chair, his arms loosely hanging on each side of him. His head was slanting back at an awkward angle, his lips parted, his breath slow and deep and steady.

She stood over him for a moment, her dark eyes absorbing the rare display of vulnerability curiously.

Here, in the dark, with the silver moonlight painted over his sharp, angular features, with his harshness softened, she had the unsurprising realization that he was quite attractive.

She'd admitted he was handsome, reluctantly, with his standoffish ways, his arrogance and his barbed tongue. But it had held the appeal of pretty but bitter food. While she may have let her gaze linger a little too long on his sharp eyes and aristocratic mouth and cheekbones, felt her breath quicken at the deepness of his voice or been much too enthralled with his long elegant fingers, it was simply that; a shallow sort of appeal.

And then he'd displayed his depth.

And his appeal had tugged at her ruthlessly.

A man she'd so neatly placed in a box of ice had thawed. A man she'd loathed and vowed to hurt had saved her, saved Eren, had held her hand while they'd fed the horse, had caught her mid-air and scraped his arms bloody and raw to shield her. A man she'd detested had come to ask for her health in the middle of the night—and seemed worried.

Each act had sifted up a flicker of heat until he was no longer ice but flesh and warmth and every time she found his gaze on her she'd felt uncharacteristically clumsy.

He shifted restlessly.

Unsurely, she touched his forehead, pushing away a stray lock of black hair.

His brow was furrowed. His breathing was a little too quick, the corners of his mouth tightening unpleasantly. Was he having a bad dream?

Frowning, she let her fingertips trace the creases in his forehead—stiffened a little when he made a soft sound deep in his throat. He stilled again, still deep in his troubled slumber. She traced her nail down over his temple and the side of his face, lingering at the hard angle of his jaw. She smoothed her finger over the bridge of his nose, pausing at the bow of his upper lip.

He stopped frowning. His breathing slowed. She felt her own breathing quicken as she eyed his parted lips. She wondered idly what a kiss would feel like.

What his kisses would feel like.

But she really shouldn't be thinking such things about him. She'd just wanted to soothe him from whatever shadows had been gripping him. And from the serenity softening his face she had succeeded.

She smirked a little to herself, feeling a strange sense of accomplishment.

She turned and struggled to pull herself on the bed, but her legs were shaky and stiff. She scowled a little, leaning forward and bending her knee up—and then she buckled.

He caught her a second before her knees hit the ground, his stiffly bandaged arms tight around her waist, her back pressed to his chest. His breath puffed warmly against her ear and neck, making chills rake across her skin.

_He'd been awake?_

The deepness of his voice made her shiver unwillingly. "Oi, Mikasa…" She felt him inhale slowly, her heart racing at the sound of her name on his lips. "Are you going to keep making me catch you?"

She swallowed, refusing to be flustered. "You could let me fall, Heichou."

To her complete and utter surprise, he gave a small dark chuckle, the sound oddly thrilling. "You're just as bratty as Eren."

Still he held her up beside the bed, her knees half folded, his arms around her.

Very slowly, he pulled her up and sat her on the bed. She felt a little irritated with her weakened body, the feeling amplified by the fact that Levi was the one who had to lift up her slack. She sat on the edge of the bed, her bare legs dangling over it's side.

His fingers flicked her wet hair away from her face carelessly. "You showered."

She nodded and crossed her arms. "You fell asleep."

He sat back in his chair, crossing his legs in that prissy way of his. "I haven't slept very well."

She frowned. "Because you have nightmares?"

He cocked his head, his eyes glimmering in the moonlight. "How would you know if I had nightmares?"

"You were frowning in your sleep."

He watched her carefully. "Is that why you were touching me just now?"

She felt herself flush a little and out of pure habit she reached to tug her scarf up—and found only her bare neck. She scanned the room quickly, felt her breath quicken. "Where is it?"

"Where is what?"

"My scarf."

He shrugged. "Hell if I know." He paused for a moment. "You didn't have it on when I carried you."

She clenched her hands into white fists. "It's in the tree then."

He nodded. "Probably."

She breathed in slowly. She knew he wouldn't let her get it, at least not now. She was going to have to wait until they released her tomorrow, and then she'd have to retrieve it when he wasn't watching.

"Don't try to climb up that stupid tree, Ackerman. It's just a scarf."

She shut her eyes, remembering how cold and icy she'd felt after seeing her parents brutally murdered. The sense of hopelessness and confusion tearing at her despair threatening to engulf her—and she remembered the warmth and security that had returned when Eren had wrapped it around her and pulled her with him.

_Home._

"Or, maybe it isn't just a stupid scarf." Levi sighed in exasperation, having read her expression. "We'll deal with it tomorrow. Get some rest for now."

She looked at him. "Tomorrow?"

His look was grim as he stood. "We'll get your dirty scarf tomorrow." He pushed back on her shoulders, her head hitting her pillow. He flattened his hands beside each side of her head as he gave her an authoritive look. "Now sleep."

She smiled a little and turned over to her side. "Yes, Heichou."

His long pale fingers were dangerously close to her mouth, splayed out over her pillow. She inhaled shakily and shut her eyes. "Good night, Heichou."

He lingered over her for a few more moments, simply examining her. She felt her pulse deepen in response, felt a little more than breathless. She'd never had such an intense, thorough focus on her, the energy between them crackling. She peeked at him from the corner of her lashes, her curiosity getting the best of her.

His expression knocked the wind out of her.

His brow was furrowed once again, his usually cold gaze softened with a lazy heat. His lips were parted, and his breath was quick and light. His eyes traced her features, almost possessively, tracing down her exposed throat and even lower.

She couldn't quite describe the feeling that bloomed within her chest, an almost intoxication, a very feminine hunger making her throat bone dry. It was heady, the sense of power she felt, of being able to stir such fire within such an icy man. How many times had she been looked at with want? It had never made her feel like this, made her feel triumphant and powerful. The animal-like looks she'd received from others had made her grimace, made her only feel disgust and discomfort.

But Levi was looking at her with a very mature, very intelligent and very dark desire, and it gave her the same sense of elation she had whenever she'd accomplished the nigh physically impossible; it made her want to push harder to see just how far she could stretch herself, and him, thin.

Slowly, he lowered his head, her entire body locking into place. Reflexively she shifted onto her back, boldly catching his gaze with hers. She'd never been touched this way before, and at the thought of her inexperience she felt a sudden flicker of unease. Levi was older than her, more skillful, perhaps in more ways than one, and she felt a very unusual sense of insecurity freeze her up. He paused for a moment, seeming to sense her hesitation. "Relax." His mouth traced over her cheekbone and slid lower. "I wouldn't dream of taking advantage of you in your current state." She felt his warm breath brush her ear, ruffling her hair and making chills spread across her skin. "You'll have to be at your full strength for me." His words were murmured against her jaw. "Good night, Mikasa." He pulled away.

She didn't know if he left or if he stayed but when the thrashing of her heart finally subsided, her exhaustion tugged her under almost instantly.

* * *

"You're hurt." Erwin's eyes watched him astutely.

Levi shrugged as he sat, his chair across Erwin's massive desk. "Scratches, mostly."

Erwin didn't look convinced. "You were refusing medical treatment."

Levi glanced at his bandaged arms and hands pointedly. "I accepted it after I showered."

Erwin sighed deeply. "And Mikasa Ackerman?"

He crossed his arms. "Bump to her head and some bruises. She's thickheaded enough that she should be fine with some bed rest."

Erwin raised a heavy brow. "Good. In that case you will be escorting Ackerman to the Military Police base tomorrow morning."

Levi stiffened. "Military Police?"

Erwin nodded. "Their numbers were decimated and the King is looking to restock his supply."

Levi scowled. "Mikasa made her choice to join the scouting legion long ago. Our numbers dwindle on a daily basis. The number of losses they've suffered is nothing in comparison to ours. We're suffering a massive shortage as it is."

"He's set his eyes on Mikasa, the way he once set his eyes on you. In fact he may try to convince you again. The rumors of yours and Mikasa's prowess have stretched quite far. He tried to lure you with the promise of money and safety, didn't he?"

Levi clenched his jaw and looked away. He rather found the thought of the man trying to woo Mikasa to stay with him a bit more than infuriating. Once he saw how beautiful she was wouldn't he try to take her in more ways than one? Not that Mikasa was one to let anyone take advantage of her. "She won't go." His words were forceful, and he wasn't sure if he was trying to convince himself or Irvin.

Erwin leaned back in his chair. "And since when did you become so familiar with Mikasa Ackerman that you are able to predict her decisions?"

"Tch," Levi kept his gaze averted. "I'm not familiar with her at all. Everyone knows that she has an unhealthy devotion to Eren. She wouldn't leave him if her life depended on it."

"I know you well enough to know that you saved Mikasa from that fall like you would have saved anyone from that fall. However, it did not escape my attention that you visited her while she was bedridden and that you…fell asleep there."

It was a rare occurrence when someone could make Levi feel uncomfortable and scrutinized, but if anyone could wield that power over him it was Erwin Smith.

"I haven't been sleeping very well. I sat by her bed to make sure she obeyed the medics orders and I fell asleep. There isn't anything more to it."

_Was there?_

He felt the heat stir in his veins when he remembered how she'd shifted onto her back so readily, not backing down an inch despite the confusion that had clouded her dark gaze. Her inexperience was obvious but her determination had thrilled him. She was a quick learner, wasn't she? He knew she'd be capable of reducing him to shreds in the bedroom. But he was much more interested in making her fall apart for him instead. Yet he couldn't help but want to speak to her and understand her, also. Levi was used to physical desire—every human was—but what he wasn't used to was wanting to get to know someone so very thoroughly. What he didn't understand was wanting her to understand him.

Yes, there was much more to it.

Erwin, however, seemed to understand his need for privacy and dismissed it with a sigh. "Will you escort her or will I have to do it?"

Levi stood briskly, nodding respectfully. "Of course I'll take her." He walked away. "I trust you." He tried to ignore the tightness in his chest as he left.

* * *

Sasha was wriggling a little impatiently as the doctors examined her.

"Stay still." The elderly man chided.

She nodded, eyeing Mikasa over his shoulder. Was she awake yet?

"When are we going to have breakfast?" She asked the doctor as he scribbled something down.

The doctor looked exasperated. "They'll bring food once I've deemed you well enough."

She felt a little iciness grip her. "And if you don't deem me well enough?"

He put the pen down and looked at her a little smugly. "You won't eat."

She felt herself pale a little, and tried to be much more obedient as he finished up his examination. As he finished a medic walked in with two trays of food.

She eyed the trays out of the corner of her eye as her stomach grumbled. "I can…can I eat now?"

The doctor waved at her dismissively as he left the room.

She bounced up onto her feet and began tucking food into her mouth with a wave of relief. They hadn't let her or Mikasa eat last night. She eyed Mikasa as she chewed thoughtfully. Should she wake her? She mulled. She'd woken earlier—much earlier—and had found a sleeping Levi on a chair beside Mikasa's bed. He'd looked rather uncomfortable so she'd prodded his shoulder nervously.

He'd shot up and left the room rather quickly, mumbling something about horse shit. He must have some very strange dreams.

It had been odd finding him there beside Mikasa's bed. It looked as if he'd fallen asleep watching her. She wondered if she should mention it to her.

But she'd remembered waking in the night to hear them murmuring quietly. She'd peered at them in curiosity to find Levi's arms wrapped around Mikasa, his mouth against her ear as he whispered something. It had sounded—and  _looked_ —rather intimate, and she'd only burrowed herself deeper into her sheets to try and make herself more invisible.

She was comfortable with Mikasa and knew many saw their friendship as a bit odd. But she liked the girl. And, as she'd gotten to know her, she'd seen that Mikasa was a bit more than lonely. She had Eren and Armin and was admired—and intimidated—by many of their peers but even surrounded by them all she always seemed…apart. And without even really trying, she'd become her friend. Friends could ask personal questions, couldn't they?

She remembered the way Mikasa had looked over her should at Levi, the flush of color in her cheeks, the heat in her gaze matched with his.

She probably shouldn't mention it. Yet.

She grabbed a hunk of bread and sat beside her on the bed, curling her legs beneath her. Mikasa stirred heavily, her dark eyes fluttering prettily in the sunlight.

She pushed the bread into her mouth tentatively. "Morning, Mikasa."

Mikasa rubbed her eyes groggily as she chewed. "Sasha?"

Sasha pushed the bread against her lips again. "How do you feel?"

Mikasa sat up and pushed the bread away. "Fine."

Sasha grinned at her impishly. "I'm glad." She toyed with her half eaten bread. "I'm sorry."

Mikasa shook her head and swung her pretty, pale legs over the edge of the bed. She seemed to hesitate before she spoke, a little frown knitting her brows together. "We're friends. You would have helped me if I'd been tangled, wouldn't you?"

Sasha paused. "Yeah." She swallowed a bite then giggled. "I doubt you'd be trying to make spider webs, though." It was a rather funny image, though. She wondered if Mikasa ever acted silly—besides feeding her the way she did sometimes, of course.

Mikasa smiled softly. "I might later on."

"Later on?"

Mikasa nodded. "My scarf…" Her hands touched her exposed collar bones self-consciously. "I lost it. I'm sure it's in the branches of the trees."

Oh. The scarf Mikasa was very attached to. She felt guilt wrack her again. Sasha took another bite. "I'm sure we'll get it in no time." She'd climb back up the tree if she had to.

Mikasa's nearly invisible smile returned as she pulled the bread out of Sasha's hands. "Thank you."

Sasha blinked. She'd offered her  _some_ of the bread, not  _all_ of it. "Hey, Mikasa, do you think you could—?"

But Mikasa had already stuffed the rest of the bread into her mouth.

* * *

He eyed his surroundings once more, his lips pressed together in irritation. He was alone. With a quick deep breath, he shot up, swinging himself neatly onto the branch Mikasa's scarf was entangled on.

The branch bowed heavily beneath his weight, and for once he was rather thankful he wasn't a heavy man. He hunched down and stretched his arm, managing to snag the soft cloth by the edges of his fingertips.

He shouldn't even be doing this. Or, at least, he should have gotten one of the other brats to do it. It was a shitty scarf.

But he remembered the lines of strain at the corners of her dark, alluring eyes, the way her breath had quickened and her fingers had clenched. She wasn't a very expressive woman but he'd seen her pained reaction nonetheless.

He tugged it and cursed when it wouldn't give, and he was about to pull out his blade to chop the damn tip of the branch off when it suddenly tore free with a sharp ripping sound.

He scowled. He held one half of the scarf while the other was still wrapped around the thin tip of the branch. He reached forward and untangled the torn off half, standing. He examined the shredded crimson cloth in dismay. It was torn and filthy and ruined. She'd be disappointed.

How the hell was he going to give it to her now?

"Heichou?"

He looked down.

Mikasa stood on the ground beneath him, a small frown creasing her pale brow. "Is that my scarf?"

He stuffed it into his jacket pocket and swung down, landing before her easily. He didn't take out the scarf right away—only eyed her critically. She was wearing her uniform, and to his surprise—though he supposed he really shouldn't be given her tenacity—she had her gear on.

He watched her expression carefully as he spoke. "You were going to climb up the tree, weren't you?"

She clenched her jaw, hesitated for only a moment, before she nodded. "I didn't want to lose my scarf, Heichou." She frowned again, her dark eyes confused. "Were you…were you retrieving my scarf for me?"

He looked away and tugged the torn scraps out of his pocket. "I tore it when I tried to untangle it." He eyed her reaction from the corner of his eye.

She looked as devastated as he imagined she would be. She took them from him carefully, her pale fingers curling into the soft scarlet material tightly. Her pained expression was gone in an instant and replaced by that familiar unflappable expression she always wore. "Thank you, Heichou." Her voice was low and raspy.

He could quite stem his bitterness at having disappointed her. He sighed wearily. "How do you feel?"

She stuffed the scarf into her own jacket pocket. "I feel fine, Heichou."

He felt a little more than exasperated. She could probably be limbless and bleeding to death and she'd always be 'fine.'

"I'll be escorting you to Military Police base tomorrow. Make sure you eat and rest as much as you can today."

A tiny frown creased her brow. "Why am I being escorted to the Military Police?"

Levi shrugged with deceptive nonchalance. "The pigs want you to join them."

Her gaze hardened to that familiar steel. "Do I have a choice?"

He watched her carefully. "Of course you do."

"Then I won't go."

He couldn't quite prevent his own dark smile. "Oh, you'll go. When the King summons you, you really don't have a choice."

She clenched her jaw. "I'm expected to travel all that way to simply reject his offer in person?" She stepped closer to him, her voice lowered. "I'm not an idiot, Heichou. Do I really have a choice in this matter?"

If he were a lesser man he may have been frightened by her eerily restrained fury. Instead he only felt fascination and an almost pride that she so easily rejected the prospect of  _honorably_ being summoned by the king himself. She was loyal down to her very bones.

Why was that so very thrilling?

Perhaps it had something to do with her sudden proximity.

"You are expected to do just that." He leaned against the tree and crossed his arms, tried to clear his head. "The only thing you should be worried about is your resoluteness. The only thing you should be worried about is whether you may be swayed by money and safety and corruptness. Pigs spread filth where they can, whether they're decorated as unicorns or not."

Her elegant fingers clenched into fists and she nodded curtly. She turned swiftly and began to walk away. "Of course, Heichou."

"Ackerman," He called but she ignored him. He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "Mikasa." He called quietly.

She stopped.

"You don't have a choice on whether you go see him." She held her shoulders stiffly. "But you do have a choice on whether you stay with him."

She turned to look at him over her shoulder, and the memory of how she'd felt gathered in his arms from the night before suddenly flickered through him. He should have bloody kissed her. Wondering how she tasted was driving him crazy. "How do I know I can trust you?" She asked him and it cooled him considerably.

He raised a brow at her haughtiness. "Oi, I've only saved yours and the brat's life more than a few times."

Her small smile undid him. She nodded. "I'll trust you…for now."

He watched her as she walked away from him, when a sudden thought occurred to him. "Oi, Ackerman."

She gave him a questioning look.

"Your gear is off limits. Take it off. Keep it off."

"I'll try, Heichou."

"Tch." She damn well better though knowing her penchant for disobeying orders he doubted she really would. He watched as she disappeared around the corner.

He really wasn't sure if he could make it another day without kissing the damn woman.

Their little trip tomorrow should be interesting, to say the very least.


	4. Uniforms and Unicorns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which humanity's strongest soldiers kick some ass

"You sure you don't need help?" Hanji asked him as she wiped her glasses with her shirt, her small frown a little humorous.

Levi scowled, stiffly pushing his arms into his jacket. His soreness hadn't been so bad yesterday—but this morning he'd barely rolled over in bed and his entire body had gone into spasms. "I'm perfectly fine."

Hanji smirked as she pushed her glasses back on. "Aren't you in a chipper mood this morning, Levi? Here, have some tea. It ought to help relax your muscles a bit."

Levi pressed his lips together prissily. The last time she'd given him a tea to 'relax' him he'd woken up on the floor, open-mouthed with a pool of drool beneath his cheek. Disgusting.

Her train of thought seemed to follow his and she giggled to herself. "I'll half the dosage."

Levi shook his head. "Don't bother." He looked out the window with narrowed eyes. The sunlight was just starting to bleed into the sky. "I need to get going."

Hanji nodded, leaping up when he went for the door. "Here." She stuffed something—bread?—into his hands. "You should eat something before you leave."

He nodded grudgingly and opened the door.

"It has meat!" She shouted in a sing-song voice and he sighed, shutting the door with a shake of his head.

The woman was as strange as they made them.

He was walking down the hall when he saw Jean muttering to himself in front of Mikasa's room door. He looked filthy as hell—he could smell the horse shit stench from here. He'd almost forgotten he'd placed him on stable duty.

Jean knocked on her door uncertainly.

He heard Mikasa call out, sounding strained. "Come in."

Jean entered, leaving the door open a crack.

The bloody brat obviously wasn't busy enough if he had time to be knocking on her door. He was persistent—had been for…years, if what he'd heard was true. While his infatuation irritated him there was a certain look on Jean's face whenever Mikasa appeared that unsettled him deeply. There was a softness to it, a tenderness and warmth that left him with a bad taste in his mouth.

If he didn't know better he would say Jean was in love with her.

He wondered if Mikasa knew.

He wondered if she felt anything in return. It would be logical, wouldn't it? They were both around the same age; they'd both trained together and Jean had also risked his life for her. Yes, it would be rational if Mikasa returned his feelings. Expected, even.

And he shouldn't give a damn.

There was a strange heat and unease that bloomed within his chest and stomach, and he felt his fists clench. He slid towards her door, feeling pulled forward unwillingly, invisible strings snapping his muscles taut as he gripped the door handle and watched through the open crack.

* * *

Mikasa's body was much, much worse. She leaned forward onto the desk, pressing her damp palms flat against the scarred, polished surface. This was ridiculous. She'd woken with a skull splitting head ache and barely been able to shower and dress herself this morning—and it left her feeling sapped of her usual strength. She glared at her jacket, only one of her arms through the sleeve. It dangled off her shoulder haphazardly.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Come in." She muttered.

Jean stepped in, looking flushed and hesitant and…filthy. "Hey, Mikasa." He fidgeted slightly. "I've noticed you…ah, the horse…your nervousness."

She frowned a little. It took her only a moment to understand. "My nervousness?"

He scratched the back of his head and swallowed thickly. He spotted the way her jacket hung off her shoulder awkwardly. "Do you need help?"

She looked away. She'd been hoping it would be Armin or Eren. "If you don't mind."

He came towards her. "Hold still." He shifted behind her, adjusting her jacket gently. "Put your arm in." She slid it in with a grimace, her entire back cramping. "There you go." Jean murmured, stepping away with a fierce blush. "Ah, your hair is under the jacket…" He stepped forward before she could protest, his dirt smeared hands reaching up to loosen her hair.

"Thank you."

His hands lingered on her jaw, his eyes on her mouth.

Levi had looked at her like this, with heat and want. He'd shown a rare tenderness in those brief moments, a darkness that had threatened to consume her—a look that made her wonder what kind of sensations he could tug out of her. She'd felt anxious, almost anticipating his promising touch.

Jean's thumb slid over her jaw tenderly.

Why didn't it feel the same? There was no hitch in her breathing, no nervousness or desire burning within her as she observed the way Jean was looking at her. She was only calm. Still and in control as always.

She pulled away. "Thank you, Jean."

He stepped back. "Y-you're welcome." He blinked rapidly. "I saddled my horse for you. She's much calmer than your horse. I thought it would be better for you since you aren't at your best health right now."

Surprised, she nodded. "Thank you. You didn't have to."

He shook his head. "I should have helped you when you were trying to get Sasha down. I should have gone for my gear or gotten someone who already had their gear but instead I just watched. And you were hurt. I'm sorry."

She frowned. "Jean, you didn't—"

The door opened abruptly, and they both turned to see Levi enter. He looked at them icily, his brows raised haughtily. "Forgive me for interrupting your little tête-à-tête but we need to leave. Out, Ackerman. Kirschtein, get back to the stables. The horses can't shovel their own shit."

His words were stiff and cruel—Jean fumbled as he nodded, looking a little disgruntled.

"Yes, Heichou." He left the room with his head bowed.

She narrowed her eyes at him. It was one thing to enter her bedroom without knocking and another to tell people to leave it as if he owned her space.

She pulled her torn scarf off the chair, bundling it into a ball. "I'll be out in a minute."

He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "We need to leave. Now."

She clenched her jaw. Just moments ago she'd put labels on him like 'tender' and 'heated' but now he was all ice and steel, and she wanted to throttle him. She was a fool for thinking anything else of him. "Is it a custom of yours, Heichou, to enter a soldier's room without knocking?"

He looked at her drolly. "Angry that I interrupted your moment with Kirschtein?"

She felt herself flush. "He was helping me with my jacket."

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Was he? It rather looked as if he'd much prefer help  _remove_  your clothing. I thought I was doing you a favor. He smelled like shit anyway."

She bit back her ire and stuffed her shredded scarf into her jacket pocket, ignoring the way her muscles tightened as she walked towards him. "Is it also a custom of yours to ask your soldiers about their personal relationships?" She was inches from him now, tempted to shove him out the door and lock it for good measure.

His eyes narrowed, his tone dropping several notches. "It is when it involves you." He cocked his head, looking almost mystified. "I want to learn you." His gaze dropped to her mouth again, his words sounding almost unwilling. "I don't really understand it myself."

She felt the air leave her lungs again. Before she could speak—or remember to inhale—he straightened and opened the door. "Come on. We're already late."

She followed behind him, outwardly collected, and inwardly reeling.

* * *

They swung off their horses and entered through the tall gates, a young dark-haired male walking towards them quickly.

When he reached them he bowed respectfully, rigidly, his bowl cut black hair shimmering in the weakening sunlight. "We've been expecting you. I'm Marlo Freudenberg."

"We ran a little late." Levi murmured. The pace they'd set had been a bit brutal but slow nonetheless, their bodies still much too achy for anything more. They'd also been silent the entire time and he'd almost smirked at the way she blushed whenever he caught her looking at him. "This is Mikasa Ackerman."

Marlo said something but Levi's attention was momentarily diverted by the appearance of a group of men behind him.

There were about five of them huddled under the archway, their military police uniforms sloppily worn. Their gazes were none too discreetly eyeing him and Mikasa—lingering more so on her then him.

Levi narrowed his eyes.

Mikasa hesitated for a moment then stepped forward grudgingly.

Marlo looked at her—and blushed vividly. "Mikasa…Ah, Ackerman." He held out his hand and clutched hers, shaking it clumsily. "We've heard plenty about you. They mentioned your skill and bravery but they never mentioned how beautiful you were."

Levi grimaced again hearing their conversation as a young woman brought him a small canteen of water and a horse—he fully intended to prowl about the small town for a few hours, knew he'd be restless if he stayed to wait about here with these corrupt pigs. He drank deeply as he watched her. Did the woman attract men everywhere she went? He watched Mikasa out of the corner of his gaze as he pulled himself onto his horse but she looked as unruffled and composed as always.

She nodded at Marlo curtly. "Thank you."

Marlo gave her a small loopy smile. "Come with me. The king isn't quite ready yet but I can show you around until he is." He offered nervously.

The group of men still stood there, looking almost eager, waiting for Mikasa to walk towards them.

Mikasa, infuriatingly oblivious to Marlo's admiration and the other's lascivious looks, nodded and stepped forward.

The pigs were all relatively young, most of them an impressive size. Yes, she looked ignorant of all of the attention but how long would that last until one of them peaked her interest? Any one of these men could offer her a very comfortable, luxurious life here—safety.

And he shouldn't bloody care.

Snapping, Levi caught her sleeve and tugged her towards him, gripping the sides of her jacket tightly. She struggled but he only pulled her in closer, forcing her on her toes as he yanked her against the side of the horse.

"Heichou, what—?"

Levi ignored her and looked at Marlo. "A moment."

Marlo nodded dumbly. "Of course."

Mikasa was about to protest when he clamped his palm over her soft mouth. "Don't speak." He growled, sending the group of men a pointed glance, relishing the way they looked away. "You will behave. You will hear out all of the king's offers. You will keep your violent tendencies leashed because any wrong move you make reflects on the scouting legion." Releasing her mouth, he let his other hand slide under her jacket, grasping her ribs. He was doing this—publicly—to stake his claim, he knew, as petulant as it was, but he could feel the harsh wave of desire brutally tighten his body, too. "But you will remember your brats, Armin and Eren. You will remember that they need you. You will remember the reason you joined us at all." He reached into her pocket discreetly. "And you will make your choice free of what anyone else needs or wants and pray that you do not regret your choice." He touched her chin, his mouth hovering over hers. "Do you understand?"

Her pulse was thrashing at the base of her pale throat, her jaw clenched. Her gaze screamed a mixture of desire and bloody murder, her fingers painfully tight around his wrist. "Yes, Heichou."

His hands lingered on her briefly. "Good." He murmured in satisfaction, promptly releasing her.

She gave a little huff as she landed on her heels, her blush lovely and tempting. She straightened her jacket self-consciously—looked as if she wanted to say something snarky but bit back her tongue and walked towards Marlo.

He smirked, discreetly stuffing her scarf into his jacket pocket.

He knew she'd make him pay for this later.

* * *

"Here we keep all of our gear." Marlo murmured, his eyes alight with a child-like excitement. He clicked open a heavy case, displaying the gear within it. "Brand new." He beamed, when his gaze suddenly fell. "We rarely get to use it, really."

Mikasa silently agreed. Her gear was a little banged up, scrapes and scuffs marring it, betraying how often she'd used it. She ran her fingertips over the polished surface wonderingly. It looked more like a trophy of sorts, some grand display more than an actual weapon.

Marlo sighed and shut the case, leading her out into the hall again. He'd done this a few times, already; one minute he was excitededly showing her something, bragging about the military police when he suddenly seemed to realize something, and like waking from a dream he'd purse his lips and become momentarily silent. He'd shake it off after a minute, attempting to hide his dismay and Mikasa followed him as he babbled airily.

They rounded a corner when an older man with thinning gray hair appeared, eyeing her appreciatively. "Bringing in fresh meat, eh, Marlo?" He cackled, his pale green gaze locked onto Mikasa as he stepped forward.

Marlo stepped between them protectively, and Mikasa only arched her brow. She really didn't need defending. But Levi  _had_ warned her to keep her violent tendencies restrained. The scouting legion didn't need any more scrutiny or criticism than it had already received.

Marlo puffed out his chest as he spoke. "This is Mikasa Ackerman of the scouting legion. Her skill is deadly enough to have garnered the attention of our king. She has been brought here to speak with the king as he wishes to offer her a position within his guard. A position that would most likely outrank yours."

The elderly man lifted his hands in surrender, grinning at Marlo wryly. "No need to get all huffy, Marlo. I simply wished to introduce myself."

Marlo shook his head. "I'm giving her a tour. You can introduce yourself afterwards."

The elderly man looked at Mikasa again. "I can show you around. Plenty of spare bedrooms around." He winked.

Marlo clenched his jaw then turned to face Mikasa. "Come on. This way."

He led her down another hall, silent and fuming. He was genuinely upset, she noted, frowning at his back. She wondered why he'd be so angry on her behalf. She'd understand if it had been Eren or perhaps even Armin but Marlo? She'd met him all of a few minutes ago. He seemed to gather his composure as they reached another door.

"And this, well, this is where we have our meetings." Marlo opened the door with a flourish—and stiffened when he saw what was happening within it. Mikasa peeked curiously.

Several men and women were gathered around a large round table. Their military jackets were strewn about the room recklessly, every inch of the tables surface littered with ashes, coins, alcohol and cigars—some still lit others smoked and hollowed. The acrid, suffocating stench of smoke struck them offensively, and Marlo shut the door hastily, clearing his throat and blinking his watery eyes.

"I'm sorry." He murmured, his voice raspy. He pressed his fingers to the backs of his eyelids. "Your impression of us must seem awful. This isn't…this isn't the only thing the Military police is." His dark head was bent in defeat. "I'm sure if someone as brave and skilled as you joined us you could help change things. You could help me make things better."

Surprised, she questioned him. "You wish to change things?"

His frown deepened. "Yes. I want to rid it of corruption—I want being in the military police to be something to be proud of and not something shameful." He touched the emblem of the unicorn on the door wistfully. "Our uniforms might as well be decorated with pigs."

" _Pigs spread filth where they can, whether they're decorated as unicorns or not."_

A young woman appeared around the corner, spotting them and rushing over. "Marlo! The king is ready for her."

Marlo straightened, smiling at Mikasa self-consciously. "Are you ready?"

She inhaled deeply. She felt inexplicably nervous. "I am."

* * *

There was a vast assortment of shops—but Levi was only looking for one in particular. He spotted a grimy window and a shoddy wooden door, a wooden sign atop carved with the symbol of a winding thread and needle.

He pushed the door—knobless—open and eyed the elderly, wrinkled woman who sat perched on a small stool, her thin worn dress rucked up a little scandalously.

She peered at him with squinted eyes. "Need more tailoring, Levi?" She murmured with familiarity, continuing to thread into a paper yellow dress neatly.

He shook his head, eyeing the bareness of her shop and recalling how it had once been full of people and overflowing in a sea of clothing. It seemed she hadn't had much business of late. "Just this, Sophia." He pulled out Mikasa's scarf and handed it to her.

Slowly, moving as if every bone in her body ached, she put down her dress and thread and needle, holding out her wrinkly, veined hands. She grasped the scarf and eyed the frayed edges in dismay. "I have plenty of scarves, Levi; ones much fancier than this."

He shook his head. "It isn't for me. It's for a comrade. This dingy thing…means the world to her."

She arched a thick silver brow at him, grinning her toothless grin. "Giving gifts out now, are we? It's about time you've gotten around to wooing someone. I was beginning to think you were holding out for me."

Levi's brows rose. "You're much too expensive."

She cackled to herself, thumbing through a small tray of spools. "I saw you pass by earlier with a young woman—all self-righteous on your horses. Pretty, that one—exotic, too. Had several of the street rats eyeing her speculatively, muttering about how much they could get for her." She looped a string through the needle deftly. "I knew there wasn't anything to worry about. She had that look about her—the same one you have. The one that says she can very well take care of herself."

Levi sat down on a chair, trying to peer out of the filthy window. "She can."

Sophia chuckled a little to herself. "If you really want to impress her you could just buy her a fancier scarf. There's this one here—look, it matches your eyes. It's what she'll think every time she looks at it."

Levi ignored her goading. "How long will this take you?"

"Repairing the damage should be easy. If you'd like I could give it a good wash and I have some dye out in the back that should make it look new. But that'll cost extra." She held out her hand expectantly.

Muttering beneath his breath, Levi tugged out his coin pouch and handed her the money. She peered at the amount then shook her head. "This only covers the repair and the wash. Not the dye."

"You really are bloody expensive." He doubled the amount.

She looked satisfied. "Give me two hours."

He nodded. "I'll give you one and a half." He left the shop and stepped out into the street.

* * *

"It doesn't only have to be you." He murmured quietly, stopping her midway through the door.

Mikasa paused, her fingers curling around the door handle. She'd heard everything he'd had to say with only half an ear, her mind elsewhere. The money and luxury had held no real appeal to her, had only made her recall the cozy and worn surfaces within the scouting legion, well used and well-loved.

"I've heard about your adopted brother and his friend. I knew asking you to join me also included them. We could overlook the fact that Eren Yeager is a titan shifter—he's proven to be well controlled. He could share in your comfort. He could be safe."

She shut her eyes. His other words had bounced off her easily but these struck her deeply. How desperately had she tried to keep Eren safe? How many times had she almost lost him? Being in the scouting legion she knew it was inevitable—she could lose him at any moment. Could she really keep living wondering, fearing, and dreading that the next time may be the last time?

" _But you will remember your brats, Armin and Eren. You will remember that they need you. You will remember the reason you joined us at all…and you will make your choice free of what anyone else needs or wants and pray that you do not regret your choice."_

She could try to force Eren to join the military police. He'd be safe—or safer here than in the survey corps. But he wouldn't come. He'd fight her tooth and nail. He had purpose burning within him, an ambition that seemed so farfetched and hopeless that it either made people laugh at him or believe in him. And somehow it had infected her, warped her one and only goal to protect Eren into also helping him, helping them all achieve that goal. She was good at it, a natural, dropping titan after titan easily. She was strong, they'd told her plenty of times, even compared her to Levi.

She wondered briefly why he hadn't chosen the military police. He was rather close mouthed about his personal ambitions, about his wants and it was a puzzle she didn't quite understand. Why did he keep fighting? He seemed like the kind of man that could easily spend the rest of his days secluded and alone, without a care in the world. But he kept fighting, his prowess unmatched, a rare rage gripping him madly in those brief moments when he was cutting down titans.

Perhaps he had had someone to protect once. An Eren that he'd done everything to protect but had failed regardless.

This was all speculation of course but she couldn't help but think it because he reminded her of herself.

Could she even try to stay here? Perhaps try to ignore everything, the entire world, in exchange for her soul? No. She refused.

Staying here, wrapped in safety and ignorance—she'd only rot away, body and spirit.

She could never leave Eren to his fate. She couldn't ever forget Armin. She had formed slight, thin bonds with their squad mates. Slight and thin, but precious to her nonetheless.

She'd fought with Levi plenty of times, had struggled long and hard to match him, had been viciously pleased when he'd begun to lean on her, teach her what he could because he'd deemed her capable.

They were skilled. They were deadly. Their roles were to protect as many of their comrades as they could. It was the responsibility of the strong.

_Pray that you do not regret your choice._

"Thank you." She murmured softly. "But I made my choice long ago."

He sighed and before he could say anything else she left.

* * *

He walked about a little aimlessly, searching for nothing in particular.

When was the last time he'd been so idle?

He kept wandering down a few streets, finding himself treading familiar territory. Unpleasant memories began to flicker through him and he pressed his lips together.

He should be heading back now. Sophia should be done with the scarf. Mikasa should have been done with her stupid meeting.

He frowned at nothing in particular, recalling how the men had looked at Mikasa lecherously. She was beautiful, he knew, drawing attention even as she tried to be invisible. It had made his jaw clench, a distaste fill him bitterly. Mikasa had plenty of options for romance—Jean, Marlo, any one of those pigs that had eyed her, perhaps even Eren—

_And he shouldn't bloody care._

"It can't be…"

He turned to his left, narrowing his eyes into the dark, grimy alley, searching for the source of the voice. There was a small group of men huddled between the walls—seven, nine, no about twelve of them—and one man stepped towards him curiously.

"I remember you." The man murmured, his dirty face coming into view as he stepped into the fading sunlight. "They call you the strongest soldier, don't they…. _Levi_ is it now _?_ "

His smirk was as filthy and haggard as his body and clothing. The rest of the men shifted forward, eyeing his pristine uniform covetously, enviously. Levi grimaced. He recognized this man from his past, a bitterness on his tongue.

_Claude._

He wasn't an idiot. He knew their intentions were nothing but trouble and he wasn't at his best physical condition at the moment and he was without his gear. He could take down maybe a handful but not all of them—and if his memory served him correctly Claude had been one of the crueler thugs he'd known, his sadistic streak becoming well-known even when they'd been young men.

Levi had never liked Claude and Claude had known it. They'd gotten into a scuffle once with Levi as the victor—and Levi had joined the scouting legion before Claude had been able to enact his revenge.

It's funny how second chances were given to the undeserving.

Levi nodded carelessly. "Do they?" He murmured flippantly, leaning against the wall strategically. The buildings about them looked very dilapidated and abandoned. He looked to his left quickly. The townspeople were quite a ways down. Even if they did see a scuffle he doubted they'd come to his aid. "I never really paid much attention, between ripping the titans to shreds and helping run the recon corps, I've been kept quite busy."

Claude smiled, his mostly broken teeth presenting a gruesome sight. "Too busy to help out old friends?"

Levi couldn't help but focus on his black gummed smile. He shuddered a little in revulsion. "Much too busy."

Claude smirked. "I'll forgive you, if you cooperate." Claude looked over his shoulder at his comrades, nodding towards Levi. "Take everything he's got."

Levi gave one last hopeful look down the street and sighed.

He supposed he really didn't have much of a choice.

Before the black mouthed fiend could move away Levi kneed his abdomen viciously, grabbing Claude's oily hair in his fist and slamming his knee into his face. He dropped like a puppet cut from its strings—and it was like a reenactment of their younger days. Claude hadn't leaned much, it seemed.

"Why don't you try to take it yourself?" He muttered, wiping his palms on his jacket reflexively.

The rest of the men surged on him and he punched and kicked swiftly, almost relishing the sounds of bones snapping, their cries of pain—but his body was stiff, protesting every movement. He delivered another rapid kick to man he'd dropped when he felt someone grab the back of his jacket and throw him backwards.

He grunted as he hit the ground, sliding into the middle of street. He felt a kick explode across his jaw, sending him rolling and he coughed on his own blood. They pounced on him before he could stand, gripping his wrists and pulling his arms up over his head. He struggled briefly but they restrained him quickly, forcing him up on his knees before them.

He swallowed a mouthful of blood, his stomach turning as he glowered up at the men. There were only four of them standing, holding him down. The rest were either unconscious or slowly, painfully getting to their feet.

One of the thugs gripped his hair in his grubby fist and arched his neck back. "Small son of a bitch." His rank breath wafted over his face, his eerie yellow-brown eyes scrutinizing him. "But you're pretty fast."

_Not fast enough._

"On your feet."

They pulled him up—he hooked his boot behind his ankle and head butted his face, flipping the man onto his back.

They tackled him again, his cheek scraping against the dirt until he felt his skin tear.

"Really fast." The man muttered, pulling out a knife and pressing the dull blade against Levi's damp throat. His breath dusted against the ground. "Might want not want to make any sudden movements." He looked at the rest of the men. "Get his boots. Check his pockets. The jacket—we can get a good amount for it. Try not to tear anything."

He felt them tug his boots and jacket off, heard them murmur giddily when they found his pouch of coins.

"What about the shirt?"

The man flipped Levi onto his back. "It's a little torn and he got blood on it but it'll do."

They grabbed his wrist and pulled his arms out tightly, his grimy fingers working at the buttons clumsily. His face hovered over his, his nauseating breath suffocating him.

Levi scowled, flinching when they yanked the shirt off of him and pulled him onto his knees. He was left in his undershirt and pants, barefoot and beltless.

He never was one to display his vulnerability however. "You all smell like shit."

They kicked his ribs, and he grunted, hunching forward.

The thug wielding the knife laughed at him raucously, eyeing Levi's kneeling form appreciatively. "Do we kill you?" He tilted his head to the side. "Or do we send you back black and blue with your tail tucked between your legs?"

Levi spit blood. "Just bloody kill me. Spend my money on a few bars of soap. You'll do us all a favor by bathing. Your appearance alone is nauseating but your stench is eye watering."

The man flushed a mottled red color, his hygiene clearly a sore spot. "You've got quite a mouth on you, don't you?"

Levi was about to retort when the man suddenly dug his knife into the front of his under shirt, tearing it away violently. They all stared at his bare, bruised chest for several moments.

Levi arched a brow. "Impressed?"

They punched him, pain exploding across the left side of his face.

He hung his head, felt the warmth of blood fall from his split bottom lip. He saw the tip of the blade lightly trace the hard lines of his chest and stomach.

"We'll send you back." The man concluded, a darker note in his tone. "With a nice message carved into your chest."

Levi gritted his teeth and braced himself.

* * *

The elderly woman grasped the scarf with deft, scarred fingers, checking its dryness. She tugged it off the small wire out in the sunlight, stretching out the scarf to examine it critically. Repairing it had been relatively easy—it was the softness and color of the fabric that had made her charge Levi twice the usual price. Having sewed it up, washed it and refreshed its color it looked almost new. Still, anyone with a good enough eye could tell it was well-worn.

It was an old thing, but pretty and well-loved.

She recalled the way Levi had looked at it, with a mixture of regret and dismay.  _It's for a comrade. This dingy thing…means the world to her._

She knew that look.

She glanced down the street again. It was past two hours now. Levi was usually very prompt—but she'd seen him walk down a street everyone here knew no one should.

She spotted the woman who'd accompanied Levi earlier, high on her horse, another horse tied to hers. But Levi wasn't with her. "Girl," She called and the woman's dark, bottomless eyes locked onto her with an eerie sereneness. "Levi paid for this."

She held out the folded scarf.

The dark-haired woman leapt off her horse and walked towards her, frowning. "Paid…?"

Sophia nodded. "To have it repaired. He muttered something about it being for a comrade. I assume that was you."

She took the scarf almost reverently. She splayed it between her hands, her pale fingers gripping it tightly, possessively.

"You may want to look for him." She sat back in her chair, searching for her needle to begin her next job. "He went down that way." She gestured down the street with a wrinkly, papery hand. "That isn't a good place for anyone to wander alone." She felt her hands tremble a little. "I've lost a few people to these streets."

The girl's eyes darkened dangerously. She stepped back, wrapping the scarf around her neck snugly. "Do you mind if I tie my horses here for a few minutes?"

"Not at all." Sophia murmured, watching her expression curiously. The girl was rather trusting. She could sell the horses for a small fortune.

"Thank you." Her tone was flat and empty as she handed her a generous amount of coins.

Sophia watched her walk away, her steps sure, her eyes scanning their surroundings swiftly, thoroughly. Something about her walk was predatory, clearing the crowds the instant she began walking.

Levi had been right to assume that the scarf had meant something to the girl; but he had failed to mention what he'd meant to her.

She'd seen that look before, too.

She thumbed the coins in her hand. She'd made quite a pretty amount today. She saw two shadowy figures walk towards her from the alleyway, holding a very familiar uniform in their hands, the stiching done by her own hand. One of the men held it out towards her.

"How much for this?" He asked her, his black eyes small and narrow.

Sophia sighed. She might as well make good use of her coin.

* * *

Levi was used to pain.

He'd been through much, much worse, physically and mentally. The blade scored down his chest a second time, and he gritted his teeth so hard he felt his jaw would snap.

"You've gotten awful quiet." Claude murmured smugly, examining the blood tipped blade idly. The attempt at intimidation was ruined, however, by the large bandage over his broken nose. "You still have your tongue, don't you?" He gripped Levi's jaw and lifted his face, pressing the tip of the blade against his mouth.

"Boss?"

Claude scowled, pulling away from Levi.

Levi slumped forward, the ropes still holding him off the ground. They'd done a number on him. He wasn't sure if he could stay conscious for much longer. Claude had only begun taunting Levi  _after_ he'd been tied up of course. Apparently, Claude  _had_  learned a few things. Like how to have others fight his battles for him.

"What?"

"There's a girl coming down the street towards us." The other thug mumbled, gesturing to Levi. "She's got the same uniform as him." The look in his eye changed, and it made Levi's stomach twist in alarm. "She looks…different. I haven't seen people that look like her. I already sent the rest of them after her."

_Mikasa._

Claude pocketed his knife and stood. He walked over to the small, half open window, shifting carefully to peer outside. He hummed in approval. "Is she your subordinate, Levi?" Claude grinned. "You lucky son of a bitch."

He needed to keep their focus on him. They'd sliced at him and given him a few punches and kicks but they'd do much, much worse to her.

But, Levi thought, he could recall how spectacularly Mikasa had flopped the rest of the soldiers around as if they'd been rag dolls. Most of them were still unconscious and hurt; she could probably take the rest if they didn't get the knife on her.

But there  _was_  a knife.

And Mikasa was weaponless.

The men murmured quietly between themselves, and Levi grimaced. He knew it wasn't likely to work but he had to try something.

"You don't want to try anything with her." Levi spoke through the blood in his mouth. "She's a beast of a woman. She may be worse than me."

They looked at him skeptically, their backs facing the window when a shadow passed over it.

"I am."

Her voice.

They barely had enough time to see a limp male body flying towards the window pane. The body struck it and the window shattered, the men falling back and shielding their faces against the glittering shards.

She swung through the window like a storm, her boot connecting with Claude's face, snapping his head back violently. The other thug tried to kick her but she caught his boot in her hands, striking his ankle with her elbow and snapping it cleanly. Screaming in pain, he fell to the ground beneath her where she punched his throat swiftly.

Claude was still alive—miraculously—and surged up, brandishing his knife.

Levi pulled against the ropes. "Mikasa—"

She leapt back as he swung, the blade slicing her shirt, blood seeping through the white, spreading over her abdomen.

He swung again but she bared her teeth and caught his wrist, twisting him and kicking his legs out from under him. He hit the ground, groaning. Mikasa held his bloody knife in her hand, twirling it as she looked down at him like he was a roach she was contemplating stepping on. She placed her boot on his chest, pinning him to the ground like a worm.

She looked up at him now and Levi tried for nonchalance, a little impressed. Well, perhaps a little more than impressed. The bloody woman was a monster. "A little late, aren't you, Ackerman?"

Her eyes darkened as she scanned his bloody, tied body, her lips pressing together. There was something in her gaze he couldn't quite place, a dull pain of past memories. "Forgive me, Heichou."

"Fucking bitch." Claude gurgled idiotically, squirming beneath her futilely.

She straddled his chest, raising the knife.

He tried to punch her but she swatted his hand away easily, pinning his elbow with her knee, her other hand pressing the bloody knife to his mouth. "Quiet." She murmured, her voice deceivingly, hair-raisingly soft. "Or I'll make you swallow your own blade."

Claude went statue still. "Please."

"You can make him swallow the blade  _after_ you use it to cut me free, Ackerman. I rather enjoy the thought of him trying to shit  _that_ out." Levi watched the frighteningly blank expression masking her emotions, knew she'd almost be capable of coldly murdering him without batting an eye.

Somehow this made her all the more thrilling to him—the sense of danger that clung to her, the darkness that she hid so well. But he didn't want her to regret this for the rest of her life. He didn't want her to be any more like him than she already was.

"Ackerman." He called again and she only gripped the knife tighter.

"Mikasa." He tried, more gently. She looked at him, her dark and deeply troubled gaze tugging at him. "Cut me down."

Hesitantly, she nodded, looking a little dazed, as if waking from a dream. She stood, grabbing a coiled rope beside them. He was about to ask what the devil she was doing when she suddenly began deftly hog tying Claude.

Levi smirked at Claude's squawks, downright almost grinned when Mikasa flipped him over none too gently, tying the rope over his mouth. She searched his pockets, retrieving his coin pouch. She walked over to him now, reaching up to cut down his ropes. "You've lost a lot of blood, Heichou." She tip toed before him, neatly cutting the rope away from his chafed wrists. He slumped forward onto her heavily, his face burrowing into her shoulder. He inhaled her scent, all heat and female, blood, a lingering trace of soap and cigar smoke—from the military police, perhaps.

She stilled for a moment—then pulled his arm over her neck.

"You got the scarf." He murmured, the loss of blood making him feel a little light headed. He felt oddly disappointed. He'd wanted to see her expression when she first saw it.

She nodded. "Where are your clothes?"

He looked down at himself. Ah, yes, clothing. He was almost completely naked except for a pair of shorts. "I think they've sold them already."

He couldn't quite tell in the falling twilight, but it looked as if she was blushing. She leaned him against the wall and removed her jacket.

"Here" She pulled it over his shoulders. He slid his arms through the sleeves with a grimace, eyeing the men sprawled across the street randomly.

He was about to ask if she'd done this alone when two men suddenly lurched out from the shadows, slamming Mikasa and him against the wall. Mikasa was quick enough—and strong enough—to twist to face her assailant, head butting him viciously. He fell back and she was on him lightning quick, every punch swift, every movement lethal. But the man was a large, burly one, the size of Erwin, and muscled like him, too.

His fists were slow however, and Mikasa spun around him easily. Infuriated the man grasped the front of her shirt and lifted her off her feet with one hand, slamming her onto the ground harshly. Mikasa twisted beneath him, not in the least deterred, managing to wrap her leg around the man's face and prying him off of her with sheer strength.

The man pinning him tried to help his friend—but Levi took advantage of his turned back, wrapping his arm around the thug's throat and choking him out.

The man struggled against his hold vainly. Levi arched a brow, pressing into his windpipe more tightly. "Where the hell are my clothes you filthy rats?"

Not that he expected an answer—nor would he let him speak. He only tightened his hold until the man slid down, unconscious and boneless.

Levi leaned against the wall heavily—Mikasa was sprawled on the ground, breathing rapidly, her fight won.

"Oi, Mikasa." Levi called, making his way towards her. "Are you hurt?"

The beast of a man she'd been fighting looked rather worse for the wear, awkwardly slumped against the wall, his arm bent at an awkward angle—most definitely broken. Levi wasn't quite sure the man was alive.

He fell to his knees beside Mikasa, eyeing her. She looked a little winded, and there was still the large scratch across her abdomen but she looked relatively well.

"Are you alright?" He asked again.

She nodded breathlessly. "I'm fine."

He arched his brows, surveying the downed men again. He remembered his question. "Did you take them all down alone?"

She looked a little smug now. "They didn't suspect someone like me. I took them by surprise."

Levi eyed her beneath him, sweat glistening across her pale flushed skin prettily. Her scarf was draped away from her neck and across the dirt like a line of blood, the top buttons of her shirt torn off, exposing her throat, collarbones and top of her full chest. She was as beautiful as she was deadly.

He crouched over her. Of course they wouldn't have expected her; she'd taken him by surprise, also, hooking her claws into him before he'd even known she had any. No, Levi thought darkly, skimming his hand over her hip and up her waist, grasping the side of her ribs—he'd known how dangerous she was. He'd wanted her nonetheless. He wanted to sink his own claws within her, make her grit her teeth with desire like she did to him.

Perhaps it was the blood loss, or the relief of being saved, or perhaps the relief that she had returned and hadn't accepted any offers, that she hadn't allowed herself to be corrupted—or perhaps it was simply his own selfish need to take, to have her, to claim her after watching Jean, Marlo and every other man who'd laid eyes on her  _want her_.

She looked up at him through half closed lids, her lips parted, her breathing slowing, deepening. He lowered his head slowly, letting his mouth hover over hers.

She shifted beneath him, her hands skimming restlessly over the ground. She shut her eyes expectantly, tilting her face up sweetly. He smirked a little, holding out, brushing his mouth over her lashes, her nose, the corners of her mouth.  _Just a little longer,_ he told himself, anticipation grinding hard on his bones. He kissed her upper lip, nudging, encouraging her to open her mouth a little more for him.

She parted her lips obediently, her fingers reaching up to grasp his bare, hard waist.

He clenched his hand into her hair, angled her head beneath his before finally locking his mouth over hers, drinking from her parted lips deeply. She inhaled sharply beneath him but he only held her still, hungrily tasting her, unmindful of her hesitance. He swept his tongue into her mouth over and over, searching her, savoring the feel of her open mouth, of her soft lips, of her tiny gasps.

Her fingers splayed over the muscles in his back, clutching at him as she finally, unsurely, moved her mouth against his. He hummed encouragingly, grasping both sides of her head firmly as he grinded his mouth lusciously over hers.

She was learning his kiss quickly, her tongue meeting the sweeps of his own tentatively at first, then more surely. She tasted of clean skin, of water and something else, something that drove him a little mad. He was both furious and relieved that he hadn't kissed her before; as it was he wasn't sure if he could stop. She kept moving beneath him, arching, making little soft sounds that he swallowed greedily. His teeth caught at her bottom lip impatiently as his fingers flicked the buttons of her shirt open deftly. He slid his hand beneath her shirt, placing his damp palm over her racing heart, sliding lower, murmuring soothingly when she stiffened. He slowed the kiss by sheer will, pulling his baser urges back ruthlessly. "Relax," He murmured against her mouth, parting her shirt slowly.

She raked her nails down his back lightly and he felt his breath catch in his throat—when he dully realized they were both still bleeding and in the middle of the street, surrounded by beaten thugs who could wake at any moment. He could take her here, wanted to, badly—but he knew better.

He tore his mouth away reluctantly, his harsh breaths mingling with hers. "Not here." He bit out, clenching his jaw, his fingers curling in her shirt tightly, keeping her tempting flesh out of his sight. "Not like this." He pressed his lips to her throat, tried to cool his blood.

Couldn't.

He kissed her again, hard, briefly.

She broke away. "Like this?"

He smiled at her darkly, brushing her hair away from her face, his fingers slipping into her silky black hair. "I told you, didn't I?" He rubbed her bottom lip with his thumb. "I want to learn you." Her lips parted and he pressed in a little deeper. "Slowly." He brushed his fingertips over the seam of her lips. "Thoroughly." He looked about them pointedly, grudgingly. "And privately." He peeled himself off of her. The things he wanted to do to her needed to wait until they were behind locked doors. And perhaps after they'd bathed.

She gathered her wits a little more slowly, sitting up and grimacing, her hand touching her cut stomach tentatively.

She rose to her feet and helped him up onto his, her gaze latching everywhere but onto him, her bush fierce. She buttoned her shirt up—or whatever buttons she had left, the blouse exposing most of her chest and stomach. "The horses…I left them just around here." Awkwardly, she pulled his arm back around her neck.

He smirked a little—then paused when he heard a quiet groan emit from the beast of a man Mikasa had fought with only moments ago. He was alive afterall.

They both glanced about them as they saw a few of the men begin to shift wearily.

_Shit._

"I'll knock them all—" Mikasa moved forward purposefully but Levi snatched her wrist, yanking her back.

"I appreciate and admire your bloodlust, Ackerman but no. We're leaving. There is someone I think we may be able to stay with for tonight."

He pulled them forward as quickly as he could. He was sure Sophia would sell her soul if it was for the right price—a room shouldn't be asking much.

"Move, Ackerman."

She clenched her jaw and obeyed stiffly, helping him along the street and scurrying around the corner. There were several gasps and yelps from the townspeople, gawking at his state of undress, most leaping away and making way for them. He sent a pointed glare at anyone who kept looking at Mikasa's mostly open shirt, almost felt like giving her back her jacket to cover her up.

They reached Sophia's door and he paused. "We're going to stay here for the night."

Mikasa looked hesitant. "You can stay here while I go to the military police to report—"

He cupped her jaw, silencing her. "No. By this time they're all probably shot in the neck drunk, anyway. We'll stay here. Understand?"

She jerked away from his hand. "Yes, Heichou." She was all ire now and he couldn't help but sigh.

Just moments ago she'd been all liquid heat beneath him. He moved to push the door open when she snatched his wrist.

"Heichou…" She seemed to struggle with herself. "We can't both stay here tonight."

He arched a brow. "Why is that?"

"What just happened now…"

Levi pondered for several moments. He sometimes seemed to forget how much more innocent and naïve Mikasa was, how something like this might confuse her. She'd never had a romantic relationship, had she? She was a reserved woman and emotions like desire might unnerve her. She was accustomed to pushing her body ruthlessly, brutally, putting it through pain—but had she ever sought pleasure?

"Mikasa," He murmured, gently, catching her gaze. "I wanted to kiss you, so I did. It could mean something more if you wish or it could mean nothing at all if you'd like. I want you and I've wanted you for quite some time now. Whether you want to take it further is entirely up to you." He traced his fingertips down her exposed throat. "I can make you feel good." He felt her soften beneath his touch. "I want to feel every inch of you. I want you to feel me." Her lips were already parting for him but he bit back, clenching his jaw. "Whether you can ignore everything and everyone, whatever everyone else might think, is up to you and you alone. As long as you're sure you won't regret your choice."

He pulled away.

"But for tonight we're staying here."

He shoved the door open without knocking and pulled Mikasa in behind him. It'd been a while since he'd had a woman in his bed—at least not without the full intention of having her.

They stumbled in and Sophia looked unperturbed as ever, sewing a white shirt as she sat perched on her stool. She glanced at them briefly.

"I gave the horse's food and water." She mumbled. "That'll cost you." She kept sewing as she spoke. "I bought back your uniform, Levi, from those thugs that I presume did…" She waved at their bloody bodies. " _That_ to you. They were filthy and torn in some places so I washed them and I'm sewing them as I speak. The jacket and pants are still damp so you'll have to wait until morning."

Levi narrowed his eyes, saw that she was sewing buttons into his white shirt.

"That will also cost you." She finished sewing up the last button and tied the string, cutting it neatly. "I've put bandages and a few ointments in the bathroom because I am assuming you both will be taking baths—and that will also be added to your bill."

Levi pulled his coin pouch out of Mikasa's pocket and handed her a handful of coins with a grimace. "I'm not quite sure you didn't plan all of this, hag."

Sophia only giggled happily as she smoothed her old fingers over the shiny metal pieces. "I've prepared a room for you—I've only one to spare and I'm going to assume you two won't mind sleeping in the same bed together, unless of course one of you wishes to sleep with me, eh, Levi?—so you two are welcome to stay the night here." Her small grin was conniving. "And  _that_ will cost you quite a bit more."

Levi gave up, tossing the entire bag onto the table. "Is that enough?" He pulled away from Mikasa to hobble down the small hall. He pulled off her jacket and tossed it at Sophia. "Wash that while you're at it and I expect a damn good meal in the morning."

* * *

It was minutes later that Levi sunk into the steaming water with a muffled groan, leaning his head back against the copper rim of the tub. It stung like hell, his entire body screaming in protest—but it was also a relief. He refused to get into bed bloody and grimy, especially if Mikasa was going to be beside him.

He felt terribly exhausted and weak.

He shut his eyes and breathed deeply. He just needed to gather his strength for a few moments.

He never noticed when he fell asleep.


	5. Unspoken

Mikasa clenched her jaw tightly, gripping the edges of the wooden table beneath her with white fingers. Sophia hummed as she hovered over her, her needle threading Mikasa's torn flesh neatly. It was a strange thing, Mikasa thought; she could take punches and kicks rather well, even a broken bone or two, but this slow, constant cutting into her flesh had her sweating and trembling.

Sophia peered at Mikasa's features curiously. "Not a peep out of you." She observed, sounding almost impressed. "A strong girl." She patted her stomach sympathetically, pausing as she observed the hard, defined lines of her abdomen. "A very strong girl."

Mikasa only pressed her lips together tightly as Sophia continued sewing.

"Levi has been in there an awful long time." Sophia murmured softly, her eyes steady on her work. "Perhaps you should go check on him." She finished her stitching, placing the thread and needle aside.

Mikasa shook her head, inhaling shakily, relief making her muscles go lax. "He likes being clean…thoroughly, so." She sat up gingerly, a little weakly.

Sophia chuckled, her small blue eyes twinkling in amusement. "I know that. But he had a lot of blood on him. We should have just cleaned his wounds, wrapped him up and put him to bed. Taking a bath in that condition will only make him worse."

Mikasa pulled on her shirt. "He's fine, I'm sure." The thought of barging in on a wet and naked Levi made her face flush heatedly. She pulled on her scarf and drew it over her nose soothingly, looking down the hall worriedly. She was sure he was fine...wasn't he?

Sophia watched her with perceptive eyes. "Sure enough that you're willing to risk him bleeding to death in a tub because you were too skittish to look at a naked man?"

Mikasa's blush intensified, her fingers tightening around the red cloth, the soft material muffling her words. "I've seen a naked man before."

Sophia's brows rose skeptically. "Your father or brother doesn't quite count, now."

Mikasa looked away uncomfortably. She supposed seeing Eren and Armin naked when they were children really  _didn't_  count. But she'd also seen them without their clothing as adults, assisting the medics with bathing and dressing them when they'd been too injured to do it themselves. She'd been a little embarrassed but she hadn't really batted an eye at it—so why should it be any different now?

She pushed off the table, brushing aside her hesitation. "I'll...knock."

Sophia nodded, perching back atop her stool. "Bring me your clothes after you bathe. The bandages and ointments are in the small chest in the bath room. There are a change of clothes in the drawers, for both of you. The towels are folded atop the bed. I'll take you both something to eat before you go to bed."

Mikasa nodded and walked down the hall, ignoring her nervousness. She entered the bedroom and grabbed two towels as pretext in the case that he was fine, and held them close to her chest as she faced the door. She tried to listen for any movement through the thick wood but heard nothing. Clearing her throat, she knocked on the door twice. "Heichou?"

No response.

She called out a bit more clearly this time, alarm beginning to rise within her. "Levi Heichou?"

Not a sound.

She tugged at her scarf, took a deep breath and twisted the door open a crack, knocking once more in a last warning. "Heichou, are you…?" She trailed off as she spotted the top of his head against the edge of the tub. "Levi…?"

She stepped in and shut the door behind her. He wasn't responding, looked almost as if he was sleeping—his eyes were shut, the water blanketing over his lips, slinking dangerously close to his nose.

The water was very, very red.

She moved forward instantly, tossing the towels onto the long wooden bench across the room.  _He fainted._ Pushing up her sleeves, she bent down and hooked her hands beneath his arms, pulling him out of the water. She struggled a little, leaning his limp body against her chest. Her entire front and side was drenched instantly, her wet boots squeaking as she widened her stance over the floor. He was surprisingly heavy, but she lifted him quickly nonetheless, dragging him towards the long wooden bench against the wall. She placed him on his back, grabbing a towel to place across his hips modestly.

She pushed his wet hair away from his face, checking his pulse, his breathing. She grabbed the other towel and began drying his beaten body as quickly as she could, her eyes darkening as she saw the long cruel slices over his bruised, muscled chest, the towel growing heavy from blood and water.

Even his arms looked in bad shape, his skin a mottled purple red color from when he'd shielded her from the fall.

She should have gotten there sooner.

She pulled her scarf off and folded it beneath his damp head, pushing back the hair that clung to his damp forehead, her fingers tangling in the wet strands. She pulled away, reaching for the large chest in the corner of the room. She yanked on it, finding it surprisingly heavy as she dragged it towards the bench, gritting her teeth when her wet soles slicked over the floor.

She heaved it open quickly, grabbing several rolls of bandages and balms, kneeling beside him, trying to calm her movements. She placed them on the floor beside her, then began smoothing her salve laced fingertips over his wounds. He stirred slightly as she worked over him quickly and gently, his lashes fluttering as a soft groan twisted in his throat.

He looked up at her dully, a frown creasing his brow. "Mikasa…?"

She breathed deeply, her shakiness slipping away, leaving her feeling more than a little weak. A warmth spread through her as she watched his eyes slit open, his pulse hammering, his chest heaving. "Yes."

His expression softened, almost looking relieved that it was indeed her tending over him.

Relief, she thought suddenly. That was what she was feeling. Relief that he was stirring, that he was conscious. Alive. Her eyes wandered back towards his, straightening herself on her knees to lean over him. She eyed the ugly split on his bottom lip and smoothed ointment over it, felt the warmth of his breath brush the tips of her fingers. "You fainted, Heichou. You've lost a lot of blood."

His hand caught her wrist as she tried to move it away, but his grip was weak, her fingertips brushing his jaw as he pulled her hand closer. "I fainted…?" He still looked a little hazed, his grip gentling, touching his forehead to her wet palm, as if seeking comfort.

She nodded, her insides tangling as his cut mouth brushed against the inside of her wrist, twisting her hand out of his grip. "In the tub."

He shut his eyes, his breath shuddering out of his chest as he threw his arm over his eyes. He seemed to gather his composure with a frown and a few tangled breaths. "I'm fine."

She almost smiled. As mulish as ever.

She swiped the back of her hand across her forehead, pushing aside her hair. Yes, they could both be very mulish and distant. But they were also very breakable. She stood, ignoring the shakiness of her legs. "Can you sit up?"

He moved his arm away, the look in his stormy blue eyes grim and reluctant.

She nodded, understanding his unspoken answer. She heaved him up, gentled when he gave a muffled curse, leaning him against the wall. The towel had almost slid off his narrow hips, and she kept her gaze up as she dragged it back into place.

"Deadly but prudish," Levi muttered, amusement curling richly into his voice, his enjoyment of her squeamishness almost palpable. "Aren't you?"

She ignored him, had half a mind to leave him sitting there for the night as she kneeled before him again. "Stay still." She deftly began wrapping the bandages around his hard abdomen and ribs, slowly working up over his chest. He shut his eyes and let his head loll back weakly, exposed and helpless before her. It was strange, she mused, to see such a usually strong and distant man so weak and defenseless before her, to touch him intimately, to have such broken power beneath her pale hands. Strange but not at all unpleasant; she almost found his vulnerability enchanting.

It was just the novelty, she told herself. Like a stray dog that otherwise would never let anyone touch it; a stray dog that would very easily bite the hand that fed it. That's all it was.

He hissed a little when she wrapped the bandages over the harsh slivers on his upper chest, his strong throat working silently, swallowing any more sounds. She finished wrapping his middle, then tentatively began to wrap his bruised arms.

"My arms don't need bandaging, Mikasa." He shut his eyes. "Leave enough bandages for your own wounds."

She kept wrapping. "I could wrap you from head to foot, Heichou, and still have enough left over for myself." Yes, she could deliver her own barbs.

He opened one eye in warning.

She pressed her lips together, ignoring his glower.

He wasn't a very large man, she admitted, but neither was he a particularly _slight_ one. His neck and chest were thick, his body well-muscled, the harsh lines of brutal physical training starkly apparent. She'd never really seen him train, but knew that he must do so daily for his body to be kept this ruthlessly fit. No, she mused. She couldn't quite deem him small. He shifted slightly as she finished.

"I haven't fainted since I was a child." He admitted quietly, his eyes still shut.

She eyed the scratches on his cheek and grabbed the ointment again, hiding her surprise at the confession. "I can't picture you as a child." She smoothed the balm over the thin scrapes carefully.

He hummed, his lashes lifting slightly as she kneeled again to wrap up the gash on his thigh. "I was a horrible one." His eyes flickered inquisitively, the look he gave her piercing and intimate. "I'd never thought you could be so gentle." His voice was rough, deeper than usual.

She felt heat bloom across her cheekbones. "You're hurt."

She kept her gaze averted, but could feel the heat of his focus on her like a flame. "He cut you."

She looked up at him, a little perplexed by the gruffness of his voice. "It's just a scratch." She looked away again, clenching her hands as she spoke through the tightness of her throat. "I've had worse." The sight of him tied and bleeding had gutted her, reminding her of a time when she'd been in the same position, of how cold and hopeless her entire world had been. But it was different, she'd thought—she wasn't a child, nor was she helpless—but for a few blank, white-hot moments it hadn't been different at all.

She'd been sucked into being that small girl again with a short knife as her only weapon, and the only thing in her mind had been to puncture it through the thug's soft, black heart. She should have, she thought in a sudden icy fury. Men like him were no great loss, were they? But she'd let him live; and that meant they'd survive to do much worse to much more helpless people.

Why had she let them live?

"Mikasa." Levi called and she looked up at him a little blankly. "Are you alright?"

She nodded numbly. "Yes, Heichou."

His hand cradled her jaw, lifting her face up gently, the tenderness of the touch momentarily disarming her. How could a person switch from being cut and dry to soft and gentle so quickly? It left her a little more than bewildered; it left her endlessly spellbound.

"What were you thinking just now?" He pressed again, his fingers clutching her jaw tightly in urging.

His face was inches from hers, and she was suddenly very aware of the state of his undress, and of how she was kneeling before him, his legs pressed against her stomach. She allowed herself to observe him and drink in his appearance, tried to memorize what he looked like when he was weak and bare. His skin was damp, gleaming against the low light, his dripping hair messily framing his eyes and temples, his lashes dusted with water drops.

She knew nothing of this man—knew nothing of his past or his ambitions or his true intentions. But there was the quietest of murmurs in the back of her mind, a voice that told her she very much wanted to learn him, too.

_"I wanted to kiss you, so I did. It could mean something more if you wish or it could mean nothing at all if you'd like. I want you and I've wanted you for quite some time now."_

Only he'd be so blunt, she thought, gripping the towel over his lap with hooked fingers—but while he had been open about his thoughts she still couldn't quite understand what he'd meant.

" _Whether you can ignore everything and everyone, whatever everyone else might think, is up to you and you alone. As long as you're sure you won't regret your choice."_

Those words could mean a multitude of things—or it could mean just one. He either wanted to have an exclusive relationship with her, publicly, or he simply wanted to have her sexually, privately, temporarily. Or, she assumed so. She didn't have much experience with these romantic endeavors but neither was she a naïve fool—she'd heard enough talk from both her male and female comrades to know that love of a romantic nature almost always meant sex, but sex didn't always mean love.

They didn't love each other, that much was true.

And she didn't know what to think.

"Oi, Mikasa." He called and she blinked, returning to the present. He looked a little irritated and a little concerned, and she breathed deeply.

"I'm fine, Heichou."

He narrowed his eyes. "Don't act stupid." He shifted forward, returning to his usual arrogance despite only having a small towel to keep him decent. "Don't play coy." He pulled back and examined her critically. "Are you unwell? Did you sustain any other injuries?"

She grasped his wrist when he moved to lift her shirt, the sewn cut only half exposed to his gaze. No, she didn't know what to think—but she knew what she  _felt._ He'd been honest with her, hadn't he? She was no coward.

She kept his wrist in her hand as she spoke, her tongue thick. "I don't know what to do about what I feel for you."

He went very still. He seemed to choose his words oddly carefully, for a man who usually could care less about what he said. "You could do what you'd like, Mikasa." She was pulled into his gaze. "Even if it's doing nothing at all." Slowly, he turned his hand in her grip, grasping both her wrists. "Up." He ordered, his voice hard.

Had she said something to displease him?

She obeyed, unsteadily clambering to her feet before him. "We'll talk about this later." He lifted her shirt, examining the large slash across her hard abdomen. She saw the corners of his eyes tighten with strain, his lips pressing into a thin line of displeasure. He touched her wound gently and she inhaled sharply—not quite from pain. "We need to treat your wounds also."

She pulled away from his touch, feeling foolish for being so sensitive to it, puzzled by the way it had made her skin thrum vibrantly. "My wounds have already been treated, Heichou."

Before he could protest she pulled his arm over her neck and helped him to his feet, flushing as he adjusted the flimsy towel around his hips, tried not to focus on the exposed lines of his narrow hips, of all the scars marring his body. They made their way down the hall and into the bedroom where she sat him on the edge of the bed. She searched the drawers for a change of clothes and handed him his clothing.

"I need to bathe myself now. Good night, Heichou." She opened the door.

"Mikasa," His words made her pause mid-step. "I said we'd talk about it." He didn't look at her. "I'm too light headed to think clearly at the moment. But we  _will_ talk about what happened." He looked at her now, his gaze like steel. "Don't take long."

Stiffly, she nodded, ignoring the knot of apprehension in her chest as she shut the door behind her.

* * *

Levi had almost drifted off by the time she stepped back into the bedroom. She was carrying a multitude of sheets and blankets, wearing a thin white night gown, her pale legs exposed prettily. He sat up, the sheet falling away—and she blushed at the sight of his bare chest, looking at the walls, the floor, anywhere but him.

"Did you need a shirt, heichou?"

He arched a brow, tried to wipe away the grogginess as he pressed his fingertips to his eyelids. "No." He pushed the blanket away, and she looked relived to see he was wearing pants. He frowned at the billow of material spilling over her arms. "Why are you carrying so many bloody blankets?"

She gathered her composure, her eyes on the floorboards. "The floor is hard."

He narrowed his eyes. "It's a good thing we're sleeping on the bed, then."

He'd hit the mark. She shifted, looking towards the window, the moonlight creeping across the floor, illuminating the hem of her nightgown, silhouetting her shape. "Heichou…"

"Ackerman," He bit out, glaring now, trying to focus. "Get into the bed. Or are you going to force a wounded man to throw you onto it?"

She snared his gaze now, and he saw that hardness return, preferred it immensely over her insecurity. "You can barely sit up in your condition, heichou." Her voice was eerily quiet, the same tone she'd used when she'd savagely beaten Claude and his men. "If you tried to fight me, I'd be the one throwing you down."

Levi held her gaze in challenge. Out of all the women he could have been attracted to it had to be the one who probably could drop him flat on his ass if he ever let his guard down. Perhaps that was why he wanted her. "Then I'll sleep on the bloody floor." He grunted a little as he tried to stand.

"Heichou—don't."

He moved forward—she dropped the blankets and moved to stand in front of him, her cold hands pushing against his bare shoulders. "Don't." She repeated again, and the shake in her voice made him pause. He looked up at her, eyeing the small pearly buttons that ran along the front of her night gown, the pretty lines of her collarbones, the elegant arch of her neck. He watched her throat work as she spoke. "You've…you've been hurt enough for my sake. The least I can do is sleep on the floor."

_For my sake._

He understood now. "You're blaming yourself." He sighed, grasping her thin wrists. "You're being an idiot." He clutched both her wrists in one fist, imprisoning them tightly, hooking his leg behind her ankles, his other arm quickly shoving her backwards, twisting her.

She made a strangled sound of protest as her back hit the bed, struggling briefly until he straddled her. "Stop moving, Mikasa." He snapped, dragging her up so that her legs no longer dangled off the bed—she pushed at his elbows, at his jaw. "I said stop bloody moving." He pinned her wrists down beside her head, glaring at her as he gritted his teeth against the pain that shot through his ribs. "Stay. Still."

She obeyed.

"Good girl." He said flippantly, moving down her body, straddling her knees. Perhaps this wasn't the best position for his sake, but if it helped her relax he supposed he'd risk it. "Now, unbutton your gown."

She stiffened beneath him, her nails digging into his bandages, that all too familiar dead look glazing her eyes.

He shook his head, reaching out to grab a small jar of balm, showing her what he intended. He could almost see the unspoken  _'oh'_ in the slight parting of her lips. "Sophia stitched you up but this will help you heal better. Now unbutton it—or do I have to do that for you, too?"

She turned away, the moonlight casting over her lovely features, her damp hair looking like black silk ribbons strewn over snow colored sheets. "I…I'm not wearing anything beneath it."

He went still. It wasn't a very good combination, Levi knew; he had her beneath him and on a bed, her lush, pale body was only covered in a very thin, very accessible night gown. He'd already kissed her, had already discovered the taste of her mouth, felt the fire that she hid so well, the one he'd stoked within her. It would be easy to taste her mouth again. It would be easy to slide the gown up and expose her to his gaze, to part her thighs. It would be easy to take her here. Just a few tugs and a murmur, a quick touch, one that'd make her mind go blank, and he could almost feel her surrounding him.

Almost.

She looked at him a little anxiously, then looked away, trying to feign her usual indifference. Her pulse thrashed at the base of her throat.

He wanted her. But she wasn't ready. Their bodies were much too battered, and taking one another would probably give them equal amounts of pain and pleasure.

And when he took her, she  _would_  be ready. It would be pure, undiluted pleasure coursing through their blood.

She'd want it as much as he did.

He forced himself to breathe in deeply, evenly. He shifted down and brought the blanket up over her hips modestly. "Lift your gown, just until I can treat your wound."

She seemed to struggle with her decision for several moments, her blush intensifying.

"You really are rather prudish, aren't you?" He taunted strategically.

She pressed her lips into a thin line as she tugged at her gown roughly—flinching when she scratched at her own wound.

He shook his head. "You can't obey a single order." He slid his hands to her hips beneath the blanket, gripping the soft white cotton tightly. He felt his pulse jump for a much different reason, his voice coarsening as he spoke. "Lift your hips."

Slowly, hesitantly, she did.

He tugged the gown up, over her thighs, past the swell of her hips, exposing her pale stomach. He marveled for a moment, enthralled with the softness of her skin brushing against his knuckles, with the small silvery veins of past wounds decorating her flesh. The hard edge of his desire dampened when he saw the large slice across her ivory skin, the wound an angry, flushed red color. He touched the skin around it, found it a bit hot to the touch. "Does it bother you?"

She shook her head, shutting her eyes, chills spreading across her flesh. "It's just a scratch."

He twisted the small jar open. "Of course it is." He dabbed his fingertip lightly. "They were filthy. They looked as if they hadn't bathed in ages—do you think they ever cleaned their knives? Gods know what kind of filth you could have had crawling within your skin."

They quieted as he gently smoothed the ointment over her cut skin, the silence punctuated by the sound of their breathing, by the small creaks of the bed when she shifted.

He didn't hurry—touched her carefully, leisurely, finding his ministrations oddly relaxing. He found smaller scratches all over her skin, perhaps from the branches, perhaps from the shattering glass, recalled how deadly and stunning she'd looked as she'd fought. He touched a small cut on her temple, crouching over her, his hair falling forward.

"They were old acquaintances of mine—Claude, and his gang." He murmured, putting the ointment aside. He saw her eyes flicker over his features, wondered what she thought. "I wasn't always a member of the scouting legion." He felt his gaze become unfocused, his hands clutched into the sheets beside her head. "Back then I was something much more distasteful."  _Something like the men who slaughtered your mother and father and almost sold you to men who'd do unspeakable things._ "I suppose I had that coming. You shouldn't have been dragged into it, but you did perhaps give them what  _they_ had coming." He became silent again, some unspoken emotion deepening his frown, bitterness, disappointment perhaps, he could care less.

"You can't…expect to be surrounded by filth and stay clean." She looked away, her breath tickling his knuckles against the pillow. "It's the way this world works. Sometimes you have to spill blood before they spill yours. We're alive because of it." She shut her eyes.

He recalled the reports, the words thrown in the court room. They'd been children, hadn't they? Murdering—three? four?—men to live, to escape. He could understand that very, very well.

There was a lack of regret within him, an emotion that perhaps belonged to those who had kept their souls intact, who had souls at all. No, he didn't regret murdering the people they had—if he hadn't, he wouldn't be here now, would he? It was small, the number of lives he'd saved, insignificant against the ones lost daily, against the ones he'd taken himself. There had been many nights when his comrades had thanked him, groveled at his feet in gratefulness because his blades had cut before their teeth could, and weeks later they'd be dead anyway.

He'd begun to wonder if saving them mattered. What did it really, if they'd only die on the next mission? What did cutting the back of titans necks matter if the bodies were chewed and broken within their throats?

But he'd saved her, hadn't he? And as he held her beneath him, felt her warmth, her softness, felt her breath, he felt the unspoken answer in the stutter of his pulse, in the way his hands ached to touch her, the way his eyes traced her constantly; saving  _her_ had mattered. The thought of not having her, alive, seemed so very unspeakable.

"Eren saved me." She suddenly murmured, shifting beneath him, her lashes lowered. "If he hadn't murdered those men to save me… I wouldn't have been alive to save him back." She looked up now, and there was something in her gaze that stung him, that felt like ice. Perhaps it was an admiration, a look akin to the ones his comrades had given him when they'd thanked him, a gratefulness that almost seemed to horrify him. "If you hadn't murdered the men who tried to kill you…if you hadn't survived…then you wouldn't have been alive to save Eren." She looked down again. "To save me."

If it had been another man, perhaps these words would stroke his ego. But to him they were only snakes curling between them, a curse, the last warning, a last thank you before they were ripped away.  _Where did your thanks get you_? It was a question that always bubbled up after every disastrous mission, watching them gather whatever was left of their bodies, shredded pieces of someone's scalp, a large lump of pink and red that was perhaps a chewed torso, a thigh and knee dangling from a cable.  _I just postponed your death. It was just for a little while._

"Don't thank me for saving anyone. For saving  _you_." He felt himself shutting away, locks turning, cogs rolling backwards, his lungs tight. "What does it matter in the long run if I only give you a few more weeks of life?"

He moved away—and this time  _she_  held onto  _him,_  her palm pressing against his cheek, making him still at the tenderness of the touch. "The world is a cruel one, Levi…"

_Levi?_

"But it can give us moments of beauty, also." Her fingernails scratched the hard line of his jaw lightly, scraped down his throat, touched the beating pulse at the bottom.

Moments of beauty, he thought, the moonlight encasing them both, leeching everything of color. When was the last time he'd had a moment of beauty? When was the last time he'd been shown any mercy?

"Moments of beauty…" He spoke softly, almost tauntingly. "Where do you find them, Mikasa? Perhaps because you still have  _family_  with you—you still have a bit of warmth to keep the ice out of your heart." He traced her cheekbones. "You see I find that rather difficult when I've never really had one. It's rather impossible when almost everyone I've ever known…" He touched her throat. "Anyone I've ever touched…is dead. I've been ice from the start." He pulled away now, the almost pity swirling in her gaze sickening him.

"Wait." She breathed, her fingers knotting in the back of his hair. "Levi…"

 _Levi_ , he mused again, his name sounding odd on her tongue.

"You're not sleeping on the bloody floor—"

She lifted her head, touching her lips to his, her breath pushing between his lips. She moved her soft mouth gently, taking care not to further split the wound on his bottom lip, the tip of her tongue tracing around it lightly. He shuddered a little, sliding his palm beneath her head, tangling his callused fingers in her wet hair, deepening the kiss slowly. He let  _her_  kiss  _him_ , held back his own wants and let her learn, the movements of her mouth tentative, curious. Her breaths were shaky, her fingers sliding over his bandaged chest, her nails scratching at his scalp in supplication, begging him to kiss her back.

His restraint broke a little, his body tightening as he pushed away the cumbersome blanket, letting her wrap her thighs around his waist. He inhaled sharply—she swallowed the sound, her fingers wound tightly in his hair, her knees gripping his hips, pressing herself against him. She arched beneath him, ripping away the chains he'd slaked over himself, making their kiss quicken, the taste of her mouth making him shake. He let his hands rove over her, snake beneath her body, tugging up the gown, his hands grasping at the sides of her ribs, sliding higher. She nicked the cut on his bottom lip, and he hissed, his heart pounding when she drew it into her mouth, sucking at it, the iron taste of blood lingering on her tongue.

He slid his hand between their bodies, smoothing it over her belly, taking care not to hurt her, slid it lower still.

" _For my sake."_

" _To save me."_

He didn't really understand why she was kissing him, why she was wrapped around him, her hesitation gone—perhaps it was guilt, or gratitude or a poisonous mixture of the two. If he'd been a good man he'd make sure it wasn't. He'd make sure it wasn't that at all.

But he was far, far from being a good man. He was the worst kind.

She made a soft sound in her throat as his hand crept closer still—his name, he realized, and she whispered it again. He breathed in, hushing her, finally touching her, rasping her with his callused fingertips lightly, his name strangling in her throat, surprise, a plea—

There was a sharp knock on the door—Levi broke the kiss, ripping the blanket up and shielding Mikasa as the door was shoved open. Sophia was at the doorway, her silver brows rising to her hairline when she spotted their flushed faces, their breathlessness, the way Levi straddled her.

"My, my," She muttered, shakily carrying a small tray with two steaming bowls atop, entering the room without a shred of remorse. "I never thought being robbed and beaten would get your passion all worked up, Levi."

Levi scowled at her—cursed and flinched when Mikasa shoved him off of her, his ribs screaming in protest as he was flipped onto his back. She sat at the edge of the bed, tugging her gown down, a fierce blush blooming across her cheeks. "We were—"

Sophia smiled at her. "I know, dear. An old woman must have her fun when she can. Here, I brought you some food."

Levi sat up, accepting his bowl irritably, glaring at Sophia darkly, trying to clear his head, trying to untangle his hazy thoughts.

Sophia handed Mikasa her bowl. "Face the wall, dear. Eat before it gets cold."

Mikasa obeyed quietly, holding the bowl in her lap, shutting her eyes, her hands trembling slightly. She refused to look at him. Sophia grabbed a small comb, running it through the tangles in Mikasa's still damp hair. "You have lovely hair." Sophia's smile was tender, her gaze almost wistful. "Black as night. You're a pretty girl. You remind me of my daughter. She was the spitting image of her father. You have their mannerisms. Silent and distant—but kind."

Mikasa put down her spoon, looking down at her hands modestly. She inhaled slowly, her composure gathered, the color slowly leeching away from her cheeks. "Thank you."

Sophia tugged a small ribbon out of her dress pocket. "Here you go." She tied her hair up deftly as Mikasa ate, and Levi was momentarily riveted by the way it exposed the arch of her neck, her ears, displayed her jawline.

It made her look much more womanly.

He pushed the thought away, watching the way Sophia patted Mikasa's head in a motherly fashion. "Get some rest. Don't let Levi take advantage of the fright you've gone through today."

When the devil did Sophia become so concerned and caring? Levi put down his bowl, turning over and lying on his side with a grimace.

_The fright you've gone through today._

He wondered if she'd say the same thing if she knew Mikasa had taken them all down without batting an eye.  _They_  were the ones who'd gone through the fright.

He didn't bother pulling the blanket over himself, feeling uncomfortably warm, muttering a curse when another stab of pain shot up his side as he rolled onto his stomach.

"What's the matter, Levi?" Sophia teased, her usual bite returning. "Want Sophia to comb your hair, too?"

Levi didn't bother turning around. "Keep your filthy comb away, old coot."

She chuckled her abrasive laugh. "Really, girl, how do you stand him?"

Levi's patience for the day—for the entire bloody month—sapped away, and he rolled over, giving Sophia the blackest glare he could. "Are you done, Sophia?" He cut out, all temper. "We need to rest. As you've seen we've had  _quite_ an eventful day. Get the hell out. Doesn't seem like much to ask you to stay out of the room we  _paid_ for."

Sophia grinned as she pulled away from Mikasa. "Someone didn't get their sweets today." Sophia hobbled over to the door. "You might want to hold off on getting them tonight for the sake of your bodies."

Mikasa blushed again, pushing a pillow onto the ground. "I'll sleep on the floor."

"Like hell." Levi bit out, glaring at Sophia's back as she left them. "You're sleeping on the bed. Stop acting so prudish. You weren't so reserved a few moments ago, were you?"

The words seemed to strike the wrong chord, her back stiffening. Very quietly, Mikasa spoke, looking at him over her shoulder, ice in her gaze and words. "I'd rather sleep outside, heichou, than sleep in the same bed with you."

"Too damn bad. Go to sleep."

She pushed off the bed—he grabbed her wrists, pulling her forward—she pressed her palm flat against his bandaged chest, struggled to keep her body off the bed, her knees pressed against the mattress. "I don't care if you're wounded, Heichou."

It was Heichou now, he noted, smirking slightly.

"Release me."

He arched a brow, spoke the word slowly, in challenge. "No."

That dead look crept over her again. "I won't hold back."

"Good." Levi lips curled up, not quite a smile. "Neither will I."

* * *

It was minutes later that they were both laying on the bed beside one another, breathless from their brief but vicious struggle, Mikasa facing the window mulishly, Levi facing her rigid back.

"Are you uncomfortable, Ackerman?"

She stiffened, her words venom. "Very, Heichou."

"Perhaps next time you'll be a bit more obedient."

He heard the strangled frustration in her feather soft whisper. " _Goodnight, Heichou._ "

He shut his eyes, breathing deeply, too tired to stir up any lingering passion. He watched her ribs expand and compress, the sound of her breathing lulling him. She was a curious girl, he mused, one second capable of cold blooded murder and the next flustered from a touch and a kiss.

"Goodnight, Mikasa." His voice was a murmur, a whisper, his eyes shutting.

* * *

It wasn't that Eren deliberately sought trouble. He never went out of his way to cause it—and he hadn't meant to drag Armin or the others into it (especially not  _Jean_ ) but it had happened anyway.

"Eren—I don't think we should be doing this." Sasha whispered anxiously, fumbling as she saddled her horse, her body quivering as hard as her voice.

"Tch," Eren pulled himself up, straddling his horse with ease. "You heard what Erwin told Hanji." Eren adjusted his crooked cloak. "They were supposed to be here late afternoon." Eren looked up at the night sky worriedly. "Something must have happened."

"I've read a few reports stating that a few of the military police have been attacked by thugs. Their gear goes for a lot of money on the underground market. Mikasa and Levi were still hurt, weren't they?" Armin mused, his brow furrowed. "If they spotted them and saw the way they moved, saw that they were weak and alone, they might have deduced that they'd be easy targets."

"Yeah, well, poor bastards if they did." Jean snorted, a hint of worry in his gaze nonetheless. "Mikasa is terrifying as it is. Levi is worse. But combined?" Jean shook his head as he mounted his horse. "I'd almost feel bad for the bastards."

"But they were  _hurt._ " Connie murmured, tugging up his hood. "And thugs don't fight fair."

"And Mikasa really was injured." Sasha twisted her hands together. "She couldn't even get into bed without Levi's help."

Eren felt his neck crack as he twisted to face Sasha. "What?"

Sasha blushed furiously, shaking her head, the silky brown stands of her ponytail slipping over her shoulder. "N-nothing. She just moved very slowly. I feel guilty because she was hurt trying to help get me—"

"Levi helped her into bed?" Jean interrupted, his back straight. "What do you mean he helped her  _into_  bed?"

"I—…didn't mean anything." Sasha visibly flailed. "I didn't—"

"I think she means when Levi carried her to the medics." Connie murmured, earning a grateful look from Sasha

"Yes. I did—that's what I meant. Thank you, Connie."

He grinned at her. "Welcome, Sasha."

Eren frowned at Sasha, something unpleasant occurring to him but it was so ridiculous, so farfetched—he dismissed it. "Never mind. We need to get out of here as quick as we can."

"Jean—Eren, did you bring your civilian clothing with you?" Armin checked, his blue eyes calm and clear.

"Ah, yeah."

"Why are Eren and Jean the only ones going to dress as thugs?" Connie whined.

"Because they have the mean faces." Sasha answered with aplomb. "Everyone will believe they're criminals. You look like a nice guy, Connie."

The slightest tint of pink colored Connie's cheeks. "You look like a nice girl, too, Sasha."

She giggled a little nervously. "Thank you, Connie."

"Welcome, Sasha."

Jean grimaced. "Morons." He peered around the corner, glanced back towards the castle.

Christa poked her small head out, silently and excitedly gesturing for them to go.

"Alright." Eren pushed his horse forward, feeling oddly tight lipped, his insides twisted. Armin looked at him, a mixture of worry and determination within his eyes, an unspoken emotion passing between them. He felt as if he'd slipped back into his childhood, that strange urge of knowing she was in danger, of not knowing where she was, of needing to find her. He'd managed to save her, just by a breath, but what if this time he was too late?

What if they'd already sold her? What if...what if they'd killed her? Mikasa was strong and it would be in her to push them hard enough that they had no choice but to kill her. But he didn't want to think of those things. He couldn't. She couldn't be dead. She couldn't die, not Mikasa.

"We need to hurry." He furrowed his brow, shooting his horse forward, the beating of hooves drowning out any other thoughts.

* * *

"Where is she?" Levi snapped, tugging on his entered the kitchen. He'd woken rather late, his dreams filled with her scent and taste—only to find himself alone, his body stiff as bones, her side of the bed cool to the touch.

Sophia smiled as she sewed. "She just got back from the shop across the street—bought some knives, big ones. She gave one to me as a gift." Sophia nodded toward the large glinting knife on the small table. "The girl is a bit frightening. Explained how and where to cut the body very precisely. As if anyone is going to hurt a little old lady like me." Sophia chuckled a little. "She's getting the horses ready. She doesn't seem too comfortable around them." Sophia looked out the large window, narrowing her eyes. "If she isn't comfortable around them, you should be the one attending to them, don't you think?"

Levi observed Mikasa grimly. She threw the saddle onto it—the horse shifted, raising its back hoof—and she stepped away instantly. "No," Levi murmured, more to himself. "She's still a bit wary." The horse stepped towards her, trying to nuzzle her chest. She looked startled, holding still in surprise. Slowly, she raised her hands, threading her fingers through its mane. "She's still unsure. But she'll get there."

Sophia hummed suggestively. "I'm sure you'll help her along just fine." Sophia gave Levi a stern look. "Make sure not to hurt her."

Levi clenched his jaw. "When did you grow a heart?"

Sophia cackled, continuing her sewing a bit more energetically. "I just like ruffling your feathers, is all." She looked out the window towards Mikasa again. "That girl needs a mother."

Levi quieted.

She couldn't know what happened to Mikasa's mother, had no way of knowing. But she'd perhaps sensed that missing void in her life nonetheless.

"You should be careful on your way back." Sophia stood. "Those thugs don't like being bested. They could very well be hunting for you two now, intent on retaliation. There were two boys with ugly mugs asking around for you two this morning."

He frowned. "Boys?"

Sophia nodded, snapping a thread with her worn teeth. "Thugs. It didn't look like they got along much. They were trying to ask a few of the people in the shop across the street but mostly ended up arguing with one another. It seems like they're sniffing you two out." She was silent for several moments. "The boy with the large eyes looked very determined. I'm not sure if you roughed up some family of his but he looked very, very angry. Eerie eyes, really."

There was something that bothered him immensely about that description. "What did they look—" He paused, seeing Mikasa walk by the window, her expression numb and deadly, the one she'd worn as she'd mindlessly broke men twice her size. Something was wrong. His skin prickled, his palms tingling as his instincts made his body coil tightly. Yes, they'd found them. "Sophia…" He stepped towards her. "Go into your bedroom."

She grinned. "Finally giving into my charms, are you?"

He scowled, his eyes pulling away from the window to grab the knife on the table. "Sophia—"

They heard a shrill scream, and Levi barely managed to hurl them both onto the ground before a large brick was smashed through the window.


	6. Under

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point it was either update now or never.

Sophia knew she wasn’t able to move the way she had when she was a young girl, knew that at times it was hard to simply walk down the street and back. She’d told herself she was holding up well for her age, that she could do what many her age couldn’t—but she had never been more wrong until now.

They’d hit the ground as the window had shattered and Levi had snapped at her to get up but her body had felt so heavy, her hip rife with pain, her arms shaking and folding as she tried to lift herself over and over.

Levi hadn’t said a word when she’d struggled and fumbled, had been half way to the door before he’d seen she hadn’t been able to stand—had just swooped down, lifting her with a strength she hadn’t quite known he’d possessed. Before she could blink he was bodily carrying her down the hall and shutting them within her bedroom, locking it swiftly as all hell broke loose outside.

She was shaking violently, hearing screams and more glass shattering coming from the street, a pang of worry filling her at the thought of Mikasa being all alone with those men, of being at their mercy.

She was so young—she couldn’t know what they were capable of.

Couldn’t know half of the horrible things they had done, or _could_ do. But as she remembered Mikasa’s peculiar features and the vague familiarity of them, she thought, maybe she did.  

“Lie down.” Levi muttered, sitting her on the edge of the bed.

She tried to pull air into her too tight lungs, her hand weakly clutching at her pounding chest. “What are you—?”

“Shut up.” Levi growled, tucking a knife into his boot, another into his jacket pocket. He handed her a third—her kitchen knife she realized—forcibly curling her fingers about the smooth hilt. “Stay put. We’ll deal with the thugs. Don’t open the door unless you know it’s me.”

He moved towards the door stiffly.

“Wait,” She gasped, grimacing when her chest constricted further, making it nearly impossible to speak clearly. “You shouldn’t go—”

“My subordinate is out there, dealing with them all alone.” His dark blue eyes locked onto hers, his lips curled back in a fierce expression. “Do you really think I’m going to let her fight without help? She’s hurt.”

Sophia’s chest loosened a bit, her eyes traveling over Levi’s face astutely, surprised at his lack of a mask, the underneath exposed so openly. She’d only seen him this open just once before, a night she’d never forgotten. She spoke her question aloud. “She’s that important to you?” She watched him sternly, his gaze skirting away from hers, and it told her everything. “You should tell her, Levi.” Her chest felt unbearably tight, recalling how they’d had similar airs, deadly and powerful and restrained. “You don’t think I know who she is? I wasn’t sure at first—but I am now. Tell her now before it goes any further.”

“Now’s not the time.” Levi scowled, shaking his head and twisting the lock.

“You’re going to regret not telling her.” Sophia pressed. “You should have told her long ago.”

Levi was rigid. “Sophia—”

“There’s another exit.” She snapped, a bit testily now, flinching as she heard something slam against the wall. “My closet has a door on the ceiling. Just push it up and to the side and it’ll take you straight to the roof. You have a better chance surprising them from above instead of walking into the street blindly.”

Levi paused—then twisted the lock back in place. “Stay here.” He tucked the last knife into his belt, shoving the closet door aside. “If they try to break in lock yourself in the closet. It’ll give me more time to get to you.”

He leapt up, his body disappearing through the small opening.

“My hero.” Sophia muttered, her grip on the knife much too weak.

* * *

 

Mikasa was a good fighter, spectacular, to some. If anyone had learned that it had been the thugs she’d encountered yesterday.

But apparently they hadn’t learned well enough.

Mikasa had just finished saddling her horse when she spotted one of the thugs walking towards her, not at all discreetly. She watched him from the corner of her gaze, tugging out the small knife from the pocket of her jacket.

When he was close enough to her she walked around the horse to meet him halfway, glancing inside the window to see Levi and Sophia speaking, determined to finish what they’d started—when the thug suddenly stopped. He smiled, a cruel smile, a triumphant one, and she felt adrenaline rush through her, her instincts prickling unpleasantly.

She’d done something wrong.

She spun on her heel, gripping the hilt of her knife tightly, seeing people scrambling every which way, muffled cries of panic surrounding her.

_Where are they?_

Several people slammed into her in their haste to get away, blocking her view, preventing her gaze from catching where the commotion was coming from—until she realized it was coming from every which way.

There were five of them, she counted quickly, dark eyes sweeping the street hastily. Two thugs walking towards her from the right, crude makeshift weapons in hand; two thugs from the left and another thug across the street, a large clay brick in his thin hand. He grinned, throwing the brick at her head—she flung herself forward, the brick missing her entirely and striking Sophia’s window instead, glass exploding about her.

She threw her arm over her head, the glass peppering above and slicing at her skin and clothing. She tried to spring to her feet quickly—felt someone grab the back of her hair, lifting her up viciously, her scalp stinging as she was jerked backwards.

She swung her elbow—but several hands grabbed at her at once, twisting her arms behind her back, kicking the back of her knees and forcing her onto them. She tried to dig her knife into their hands but they gripped her fingers, crushing them viciously, the blade slipping from her grip and striking the ground sharply.

She gritted her teeth as they surrounded her, their fingers bruising her skin, wrapping around her jaw and wrists and ankles. A grimy hand grabbed at her face, fingertips digging into her cheeks and lifting her face up, holding her immobile.

Claude appeared, holding a large blade in one hand, the other carefully placed in his pocket, looking pleased at her restrained and helpless form—but nonetheless wary. “Where’s Levi?”

Six, she amended, Claude was the sixth. Mikasa kept her eyes fixed on him, biting her tongue spitefully.

He bared his teeth, blue eyes pale in the dust and sunlight. He wasn’t as old as she’d first pegged him to be, Mikasa realized suddenly, the curve of his face becoming more prominent as he moved closer. “I’d like to see how loyal you are after we cut that pretty face of yours up.” He brought the knife up to her cheek, the tip of the blade scratching her skin lightly. “You look awfully familiar.”

_Familiar?_

Mikasa strained against their hold, hissing when they yanked her hair, feeling as if her neck would snap from the force.  

He smiled, still seemingly nervous. “Tie her up. We’re taking her back with us. Forget about Levi—we’ll sell her before he gets a chance to find us.”

He nearly shouted the words, his pale eyes sweeping the street, the inside of Sophia’s shop, finding nothing. She knew he’d made his words loud enough so that Levi could hear them if he was around—knew he was trying to bait him.

And she hoped he wouldn’t be foolish enough to fall for it.

She could very well handle this on her own.

They tied her wrists together, tugging another thick dusty rope over her mouth, the taste of it like a mouthful of dirt.

“Don’t like that, do you?” Claude murmured, grinning at her cheekily. His filthy hand reached out, his thumb passing over her bottom lip. She shut her eyes, willing those awful memories of when she was a child away, “I could get a pretty penny for you.”

_How much do you think we can get for her?_

Like the thugs who’d murdered her family and who’d almost sold her off.

_Familiar._

She snapped her head forward, driving the top of her skull into the bridge of his nose, knocking him down instantly. A fist twisted into her hair again, yanking her bank and restraining her from lunging at him. Her scalp stung and she fought to keep herself from struggling further.

“Hog tie her!” Claude slurred, holding his re broken nose, blood beginning to slip between his fingers. “I don’t want her to be able to move a fucking inch.” He kept cursing, tears mixing with blood as he leaned against the wall.

She was held stiffly on her knees as they draped and tied the ropes about her arms and chest, working down to her legs. She shut her eyes, forcing herself to stay calm, to think. There was a knife tucked into the back of her belt, small and thin and she knew they’d miss it—she could use it to cut her binds later when they weren’t looking. For now she needed to cooperate, bend to their will until the moment presented itself.

They shoved her face down, beginning to coil the rope about her booted ankles—when she heard a sudden curse and grunt, a heavy thud resounding on the ground pressed to her cheek. The hands on her fell away and she turned, skin scraping across the ground as she tried to see where the sounds were coming from.

She saw knives buried into the chests of two thugs, watched as they dropped onto the ground hollowly, only two feet from her. Levi was crouched on the roof of Sophia’s building above them, blue eyes hard, the glint of another knife held between his long fingers. He twisted when they threw their own blades at him, leaping off gracefully, plunging into the group of men on the street, a cat digging its claws into mice.

Levi crashed into the group of thugs, his knife and clothing already bloodied as he viciously dug his blade into them, blue eyes blank as he hacked and slashed neatly, dropping one more.

 _Three,_ Mikasa struggled to free her hands, _just three left_.

The man who’d fallen beside her lunged to grab Levi—but she rolled, pinning his body underneath hers as best she could with her arms and legs slightly restrained, giving Levi a few extra seconds to deal with the thug he was fighting. She dug her knees into the man’s back, using her weight to hold him down—but where had Claude gone? She struggled to keep her balance, straining to tug the knife out of her belt but he bucked beneath her, throwing her off of him.

She grunted as her shoulder struck the dirt, the dust stinging her eyes, blinding her—the glint of a knife her only warning as he swung a blade toward her chest. She choked, kicking her feet up and striking his chin so hard the crack of his teeth was audible. He stumbled back but regained his balance, his pale face mottled with rage.

He moved towards her—she looked to the side, saw Levi still struggling with the thug, a small, thin man who was fast and graceful, almost as much as he was.

He wouldn’t make it in time.

Her fingernails bit into the hilt of the small knife tucked behind her belt, tugging it out as quickly as she could—but his large boot smacked over her stomach and ribs, pressing down painfully, the blade of the knife biting into her own skin instead.

She struggled but he only pushed down further, unknowingly digging her knife deeper into her back—he avoided her kick this time, kicking her knee hard enough to make her arch and grit a cry behind her teeth. She knew he wasn’t supposed to kill her—but the rage clouding his gaze seemed to blind and control him, invisible strings moving his stiff limbs as he lifted the knife up again, just above her neck and heart.

She struggled, twisting the knife beneath her back and forcing herself to slice at her own skin, sawing at the ropes about her wrists—but it was too late.

He swung his arm, slicing the knife down and she bucked—and heard a sharp puncture, the man stiffening over her. His knife dropped dangerously close to her face, the tip of the blade digging into the ground as his eyes widened in shock. He choked, dropping forward and to the side—and suddenly Sophia was standing there, blood staining her prim dress and wrinkly hands, a knife embedded into the man’s back deeply.

She looked a little dazed—her pale eyes moving towards Mikasa. “I cut him, Amelia.” She rasped breathlessly, blue eyes wide and unseeing. _Amelia?_ “They won’t hurt you anymore.” She dropped beside her, hands running over the ropes on her body shakily. “You’ll be fine. They can’t hurt you anymore. Mommy is here, now.”

_I’ve lost a few people to these streets._

Mikasa paused, dark eyes scanning the odd look on Sophia’s face, trapped in a memory that she couldn’t seem to break out of.

“Amelia.” Claude appeared behind Sophia, his brow furrowed. “I knew you looked familiar.” He grabbed the back of Sophia’s hair, arching her head back. “Amelia’s dead.” He slid his arm around Sophia’s neck, burying his knife deeply into her side, his expression dead. “Just like her father—who couldn’t save her, either.” The blade bit deep between Sophia’s ribs, her cry a wet gurgle. “You can join them now.” He shoved her aside, throat working viciously.

Mikasa felt her heart stutter, her teeth digging into the rope tied across her mouth as she tried to cut at the ropes hurriedly. Sophia’s eyes went blank, her body dropping to the side, hand outstretched towards her—the way her mother’s had.

Claude grabbed the back of Mikasa’s jacket, dragging her away from Sophia’s body. She still held the knife between her stiff fingers, didn’t tear her eyes away from the blood pooling beneath Sophia’s blue dress, the dust soaking it up greedily.

_You remind me of my daughter._

_You look awfully familiar._

It finally connected within her skull, like a snake finally latching onto its own tail, something sour dropping into her stomach—these men were part of the group who’d murdered her family, and who’d, seemingly, murdered Sophia’s.

This was the group that Levi had been a part of. Levi very well could have had a hand in the death of her parents. He could have been the reason she’d lost her family.

“Don’t.” Levi growled, his expression dark and murderous, his voice breaking her of her reverie.

Dully, she realized Claude was holding a gun to her head, seconds away from ending her life. She blinked, willing herself to come to her senses, fumbling with the small knife still gripped between her fingertips.

Now was not the time to be emotional.

Levi was standing just a few feet from them, bloody knife in hand, blue eyes locked onto Claude with a hollow kind of rage she knew intimately well. “ _Don’t_.”

Her gaze slid back to Sophia, saw her chest shuddering— _she was still alive_.

She forced herself to speak the words tangled at the back of her throat, the rope nearly making them indistinguishable. She could put everything aside for now. She had to. “Levi.” She swallowed, willing him to understand that she did not need rescuing—but Sophia did. “Sophia.” She could get out of this situation easily enough. She was sure with enough force she could free her hands—she just needed to wait until he _wasn’t_ pointing the gun at her head.

Claude dug the barrel of the gun harder into her temple, as if reading her thoughts. “Don’t talk—or move.” Claude inhaled deeply, shifting his weight nervously as he spoke with false calm. “We didn’t get to talk much, did we, Levi?” Claude’s tone was almost affectionate, a hint of shakiness just underneath. “But you see last night I got to thinking.” He lowered the tip of the gun to her cheekbone. “She—” He pulled at her hair for emphasis, her teeth biting into the rope tightly. “Is the reason my friends—our friends—are dead.”

_“They were old acquaintances of mine—Claude, and his gang. I wasn’t always a member of the scouting legion. Back then I was something much more distasteful.”_

Levi faltered for just a moment, looking a little strangled, and she’d almost say he looked guilty. She’d known that they’d been in the same circle of thugs and seeing him pause now when their lives were dangling on a string cleared her head more effectively than anything else could have.

Now was not the time to be emotional.

“You weren’t there. You’d moved on to better things.” Claude sounded terribly wounded, and Mikasa briefly wondered how deep his bond with Levi had been.

_You weren’t there._

Perhaps Levi’s guilt was not directed towards her but to Claude and the friendship they’d once had. If he hadn’t been there…then he couldn’t have possibly had a hand in her past.

“If you had been there they would have been alive. You were the strongest, you were the one who protected us when things got ugly— _but you abandoned us._ And for what? To play soldier? For someone you didn’t even know?”

“Claude,” Levi began, deadly soft, expression controlled. “The military police are most likely on their way.”

Claude shook his head again, a sob catching in his throat. “You left us all without batting a fucking eye and you deserve this—” He pressed the side of the gun against the right side of her skull, aiming squarely at Levi—and without thinking Mikasa moved. She threw herself into him, biting the rope as she slammed her shoulder into Claude’s knee, throwing him back.

Levi’s hand flicked up lightning quick, his dagger whistling through the air by her cheek, biting into Claude’s shoulder. The gun fired, the explosion of sound tearing into her ear drum, the bones of her skull vibrating—deafening her. She jerked away from the shot reflexively, dropping onto her hip. The bullet struck the ground behind her, nearly striking Sophia square in the chest. Claude kept stumbling, his blood splattering her hair and face, incredulously looking at the knife embedded in his shoulder. He gave a smothered cry of pain, fumbling to point the gun back up—

Mikasa surged to her feet, using her weight and strength to slam him against the wall of Sophia’s shop, the gun dropping between them sharply. She tried to pin him but her hands were still tied and he’d twisted his hand into her hair—but she held her ground viciously, boots digging into the dirt as she kept him up against the wall.

Her knife slipped from her fingers and she silently cursed herself, struggling to free her hands as he bit her neck hard enough to let blood. Her sound of pain and frustration was muffled against the rope, digging her elbow against his chest to get him to release her. His hands flew to her throat, pressing into her windpipe as he tore his teeth away—  

Levi shoved her back, unintentionally dropping her, kicking Claude so hard he flipped him flat on his back. Mikasa kicked the gun away as she hit the ground, the binds about her wrists snapping. With her hands free she yanked at the rope around her arms and mouth, pulling it down her neck.

“Get Sophia.” Levi bit out, kicking a now cowering Claude.

She hesitated—but nodded, grabbing the gun and tucking it into the back of her belt. She moved towards Sophia’s prone body, her pale hands hovering over her blood drenched side, over her heaving chest.

“It’ll be fine,” Mikasa spoke, her voice sounding far off, the screams of the crowd muffled by the still painful ringing in her ear. “Don’t move.”

Sophia opened her eyes, lips bloodless. “I couldn’t let him hurt you.” She shut them again, tears seeping down her temples, threading into her silver hair. Her lungs rattled as she spoke. “I didn’t want to see what happened to my daughter happen to you.”

Mikasa removed her jacket, pressing it over the wound, grasping Sophia’s hand and guiding it. “Hold this here.” She pressed in, seeing blood gush and dribble down.

“I couldn’t protect her.” Sophia’s face contorted, the expression agonized and tortured. “They did awful things to her.”

_Don’t._

Mikasa looked over her shoulder, seeing Levi continue to pummel Claude. It was a won fight but Levi continued, a few of the townspeople looking on in horror. There had to be a doctor nearby. She looked back to Sophia. “I’m going to pick you up now.”

Sophia shook her head, continuing to speak, words rasping. “What kind of mother doesn’t protect her own daughter?” She took another strangled gasp, self-revulsion rolling off every strained breath. “I don’t even have god’s forgiveness.” She exhaled, her chest going still, eyes dull as they gazed up at the sky unseeingly.

Mikasa froze. “Sophia…”

There was no response, her body too still, tears still dripping off her thin veined skin. She tried to feel something but her guards had come up—and she could only feel the hollowness she’d never been able to hide very well, numb and blank as she gazed upon the corpse before her. Perhaps she’d feel something in the dead of the night, in a few days, _weeks_ but for now she felt nothing.

Nothing for the woman who had given her life for her.  

Mikasa didn’t know how long she stayed there on her knees, dry eyes fixed on Sophia, blood slipping from the bite on her neck down her chest—until the audible snap of bone and a pained cry finally made her drag in a breath. There was another guttural cry, the ground vibrating, forcing her to look behind her. Levi had Claude on the ground and pinned against the brick wall, his boot and fist repeatedly driving into Claude’s face and skull, the man looking more like a bloody smear than human.

Much like the way he’d beaten Eren before the entire court.

Mikasa breathed harshly, taking one step, another, legs shaky from her ringing ears. Everyone was watching them. She spoke, knuckles stinging and voice thin. “Levi.”

There was an awful choking sound, Claude gurgling blood, his nose smashed in—but Levi kept kicking, his eyes frighteningly blank. “You know nothing.” Levi paused, panting, looking half mad. “You don’t know a fucking thing.” His teeth clenched, delivering another kick.

She felt no pity move her.

This man had been part of the reason she’d lost her family. This man had had a hand in their deaths. A part of her didn’t want to stop Levi—a part of her wanted to kill Claude herself and perhaps, if there had not been an entire town watching, she would have given in to that darkness.

She and Levi were a bad mix—broken and violent and corrupted, any softness they could possess lost between the savagery of their own strength and the bone breaking burden they bore because of it.

Levi had cracked under the pressure, rage in every vicious strike—and she was the only one who could force him to get back his control.

Mikasa gritted her teeth, snapping backwards, grabbing the back of Levi’s jacket and yanking him away. He snarled, his elbow flying towards her face—she narrowly dodged it, ducking and tackling him to the ground.

“Levi.” Mikasa bit out, tongue thick as he rolled her beneath him, the crowd gathering about them. They struggled over the dirt street violently, steel against steel—until he managed to wrap an arm and a leg around her, flipping her over and away from him.

She grunted as she rolled, breath pushing out of her—but her body reacted instinctively, her boot slipping behind his ankle, tripping him. He fell back and she used his momentum to her advantage, trapping him underneath her. She used her weight against him, restraining his fierce struggles, her hands catching his bloodied fists against her palms. She straddled him tightly, holding him down when he bucked, oddly detached as she managed to cease his struggling.

How long had she wanted to surpass him? How long did she want to have the edge over him in a spar, in number of solo kills, in _everything—_ and here he was, helpless beneath her, crackling and spitting fire and she was the only place that could hold him. He ripped his fist back and swung again—but she struck it away, grabbing his wrists and pinning them over his head, her lower body pinning his down. He was sloppy and weak, and the feebleness of his strikes would have worried her if it had not been to her advantage.

“Levi.” Her tone was as dead as she felt, her face inches from his. “Get a hold of yourself.”

He twisted his head and their gazes locked, the blue of his eyes seeming to lighten as he came to his senses. He inhaled and nodded, his muscles going lax. She released his wrists, watching him as he threw his arm over his eyes. _“Fuck.”_ He wouldn’t look at her as his throat worked, his breaths rattling.

She didn’t say a word, didn’t try to comfort him, couldn’t. She simply sat astride him as he shuddered violently beneath her, her body beginning to slump as the adrenaline left her.

She looked up, seeing Claude roll onto his front, spitting blood as he tried crawl away blindly. She stood, walking towards him but several of the people from the crowd moved forward, helping him to his feet, giving Mikasa scathing looks.

Accusing.

The way they’d looked at Eren when he’d first transformed.

She saw a young boy run over to the pile of bricks across the street, lifting it, small dark eyes narrowed and furious, fixated on Levi who was still on the ground.

_He’s going to throw it._

She scrambled forward, running towards him and lifting her arm to shield Levi just as he threw the brick—she strangled her cry of pain as it slammed into her right arm and struck the side of her head, the force of it dropping her.

The brick fell onto the ground beside them, the pain throbbing within her split elbow and skull. She pressed the heel of her hand against the slice upon her forehead, glaring at the crowd threateningly as she set her teeth, scanning for any more possible brick throwing. They shifted back, dissipating instead, the boy running away quickly.

“Mikasa,” Levi sat up, forcing her to sit back on his knees as she continued to cradle her wound—and everything still sounded so far away, her head whirling. “Let me—” His fingertips urged her hand away.

“I’m fine.” She grabbed the knife she’d dropped, beginning to get onto her feet again. “We need to move.” They needed to get out of the street, perhaps to the military police. She was sure Marlo would aid them.

Levi was about to speak—when she felt him lock up, his eyes moving to something behind her, feeling a rush of movement at her back.

Levi surged forward as she felt someone grab the gun tucked into the back of her belt—she swung her knife, twisting backwards and driving the knife up instinctively.

The blade plunged deep into Claude’s chest, his grip on the gun slackening, his body folding over them both. His blue eyes locked onto her, shock and disbelief painting his features—but she only slid the blade deeper into his chest, pushing it in to the hilt and gutting his heart, his features contorting.  

She felt her mind go blank, her pulse slow and calm as the blood dribbled over her fingers and wrist, her other hand shoving him away before he fell onto her. He dropped—lifeless—onto his back, staring up at the sky the same way Sophia had. He was dead and she felt no guilt or appall, only a hollow satisfaction, knowing he’d been put down the way he should have long ago, knowing no one else would suffer the same fate she had by his hands.

She’d killed him—murdered him—and everyone had seen her do it.

“Mikasa.” Levi moved, shifting onto his knees to grab the knife from her tight grip—freezing when he heard the rough, rhythmic beats of hooves coming towards them, the vibrations thrumming their weary bodies.

“Shit.” Levi cursed again, exhaling through clenched teeth. “ _Shit._ ”

“Mikasa!”

At the sound of Eren’s voice Mikasa looked up, breath snagging in her throat as she saw Eren leap off his horse, Armin, Jean, Connie and Sasha trailing behind him quickly—surrounded by a large group of Military police officers.

_Why are they here?_

She didn’t ask the question, didn’t quite care as she let the knife slip from her bloodstained hands, dazedly hearing Eren yell and struggle as the Military Police took both she and Levi into their custody.

* * *

 

“You should be out soon. Tomorrow morning, actually.” Erwin murmured as he stood outside their jail cell, blue eyes examining the letter the guard had just handed to him.

Levi sat on his small cot languidly, long fingers plucking at the frayed strings on the edges of the sheets. “What about her?” He threw a glance over at Mikasa on the opposite side of the room, eyes shut, her breathing easy. She hadn’t slept at all last night and her exhaustion had finally claimed her about an hour or so ago.  He eyed her pale form curled up on her cot, eyes tracing over her bandaged right arm and the haphazard bandaging around her head—much too careless.

He’d had to adjust it for her several times, vowing to himself that as soon as they were out of this fucking rat hole he’d get her proper treatment.

Levi tried to keep his voice low. “Where’s Eren?”

Erwin looked up at that. “He’s just outside.” Erwin folded the letter. “I wasn’t sure letting him see Mikasa in a cell was a good idea. He may lose his temper when he finds that we cannot release either of you today. He’s already under a lot of strain—and scrutiny from the Military police.”

Levi kept his gaze on Mikasa. She’d been a little strained also, even if she thought she kept it hidden well. She stumbled when she rose to her feet to quickly, sometimes frowned and shook her head when he spoke too low, preferring the shadows to the light. She hadn’t been able to hear for several hours, the gunshot damaging the drum of her ear temporarily. She was in pain and he could do nothing but watch her grit her teeth through it.

Not that he was in much better shape. He was so bruised he could barely breathe without his ribs screaming in pain.

 Levi exhaled, his tone low. “She’s refused to eat and she’s barely drank anything.” He’d watched every spoonful that had gotten past her lips, knew that forcing her to eat would be pointless—if the guards caught them struggling they’d only separate them. The food was shit, anyway. “Seeing Eren might help her regain her strength.”

Erwin eyed Mikasa, absorbed in his thoughts. “I’ll let him in.” Erwin turned—then paused. “Levi…” Erwin lifted the letter pointedly. “Claude—the thug she murdered—seems to have told quite a few interesting stories to the rest of his group. Stories the investigator put on paper.”

Levi looked away. He’d figured. “I’m sure the pigs are having a field day over it.”

Erwin shook his head. “I managed to keep her quiet, actually. Cost quite a bit really, but I came prepared.” Erwin tucked the letter into his jacket pocket.

Levi relaxed subtly. “You always do, Erwin.”

Erwin smiled, but Levi knew him well enough to know it wasn’t genuine. “I’ll have Eren in within a few minutes with some food.” He nodded towards Mikasa. “Make sure she’s awake—and make sure he comports himself. The Military police will be waiting for any sign of instability.”

He left, leaving Levi tired and bitter.

* * *

 

Mikasa woke feeling someone touch the bite wound on her neck.

She started, her hand flying up, catching his hand and preparing to twist it—but Levi grabbed her wrists instead, blue eyes hard as he looked down at her. “It’s me, Mikasa.”

She blinked rapidly, realizing they were still in their jail cell. She’d somehow fallen asleep—could only vaguely remember what she’d been dreaming—and Levi was standing over her.

She sat up and he sat onto the cot beside her, looking a little overwhelmed in the spare shirt they’d given him. He had the sleeves rolled up and he’d tucked in the shirt when he’d first put it on but it was still hopelessly long and so he’d let it hang off his broad shoulders. He’d looked different from those first years she’d known him; he’d always looked proper and starched and neat, buttoned up and constricted.

And he’d unraveled before her in a way she’d never thought he could.  

“How do you feel?”

She touched her bandaged elbow reflexively, feeling if her bandages had come loose in her sleep. “Fine.” And shewas, besides being terribly bruised and cut up and slightly weak. The brick had simply split the skin over her elbow, a flare of pain that shot up whenever she stretched her arm—her head was an altogether different matter. She’d had head injuries before, however, and she knew it was simply a matter of resting, as difficult as a concept as that was to her.

Her hearing hadn’t fully returned, either and that was perhaps the most disorienting. 

 “Eren’s coming to visit you.” He didn’t quite look at her as he spoke.

Mikasa felt her heart thrash within her chest, breathing slow. She’d been afraid of this. She didn’t want Eren anywhere near here. She’d thought Armin would be sensible enough to keep him away—but she knew Eren was tenacious enough to make even Armin fold. She touched the bandages wrapped around her head self-consciously. “Now?”

Levi nodded curtly, fingers reaching up to smooth the rumpled folds over her temple. “We should be out by tomorrow morning, looks like.” His fingertips slid down her cheek and jaw gently—then dropped away, hands clasping between his knees tightly.

Mikasa pushed her legs over the side of the bed, mimicking his posture, hunching forward and clasping her hands together. “Rather quick.”

Levi shrugged, back tight. “Erwin is always a step ahead and pigs will always give into their gluttony.”

Mikasa recalled Marlo for a few moments, recalling the way he’d demanded they receive medical attention before they were thrown into the cell. “Not all of them are so bad.”

“Tch,” Levi leaned back against the wall, his loose shirt flattening against his hard chest and stomach. They stayed quiet for a few moments, the dim glow of the lantern stretching shadows thin. “Listen, Mikasa…” He spoke woodenly, his expression grim. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

She kept her features impassive, waiting silently.

“About Claude…” He parted his lips—then set his teeth. He looked hollowed out, his blue eyes flickering over to her and pausing. He made to speak again but he didn’t, shaking his head instead.

“Were you a part of it, Levi?” She finally asked, hands clenching, and her voice cracked with the cold rage of an old wound torn back open. “Did you help them murder my family?”

She felt him watching her, couldn’t quite look at him as she remembered Claude’s pained words. _If you had been there they would have been alive._ He _hadn’t_ been there, had he? But he’d avoided looking her in the eye enough to show that he still felt guilty, and her instincts had kept prickling with a sense of foreboding.

“No.” He answered, voice soft and gentle, disarming her ire. “I didn’t.”

She breathed, slow and deep. It was what had been winding her up, had had her tight lipped and strained. She nodded. It was what she’d concluded after what Claude had said and he’d answered her and so she had to believe him. As much as he grated on her nerves and treated Eren much too roughly she’d admired him, in her own reluctant away.

It had been, at first, due to his sheer physical prowess, from the strange but brutal effectiveness of his technique and the way he’d made it a point to tutor her. And as she’d learned him she’d watched the way he held himself together when those close to him fell, the way he never batted an eye at becoming a torturer, a murderer, a scapegoat—whatever was required from him. She’d learned to understand him, and the admiration had grown steadily, quietly, until she’d realized they possessed as many similarities as they possessed differences.

Until she realized they were just broken reflections of one another.

Carved hollow and moving out of sheer strength and doggedness.

“I grew up with Claude.” Levi eyed his scabbed knuckles. “But he wasn’t…” His throat worked again, hands clenching and unclenching.

Her brows pulled together. “What?”  

He shook his head. “Nothing.” But the stiffness of his words betrayed him, his body hard. “I just wanted to apologize. For how I reacted. I shouldn’t have snapped the way I did and you were hurt because of it.” He moved to reach for her hand—then paused, returning his hand back to his lap. “You knocked me into my senses quick enough.” He shrugged. “You shouldn’t feel guilty.” He touched his bandaged ribs.

Mikasa stared straight ahead unseeingly. “I don’t.”

She could very well murder him again if she discovered he was, somehow, still alive. She could murder a thousand others if it meant protecting herself, or Levi, or Eren and Armin and any other. She’d bathe herself in blood if necessary, and guilt and a heart was something she’d never been able to afford.

No, she mused, they weren’t so different at all.

* * *

 

They’d stayed sitting beside one another without speaking much until the heavy door creaked open, brown hair and bright green eyes peering in hesitantly.

Mikasa pushed to her feet. “Eren.”

Eren stepped in, metal tray between his hands. His eyes passed over them both, a mixture of happiness and nervousness. “I brought you both food.” His gaze hardened as he looked at Mikasa, snagging over all the bandages on her body. “They told me you weren’t eating.” He put the tray on the small table, accidentally bumping the lantern.

He cursed, catching it before it fell, and Levi watched the light flicker over Mikasa as she gripped the bars of the cell tightly. Levi had always found it curious to see how flat she could be one minute and how the mere sight of Eren seemed to revive her, as if her very heart was contained within him.  

Eren cleared his throat, the sound amplified by the silence in the room. His eyes strayed over Mikasa, eyeing the way she held the bars, knuckles bone white.

She spoke quietly. “You shouldn’t be here, Eren.” She kept her dark eyes downcast. “They’ll use any excuse to put you in here. They could—”

Eren scowled. “Shut up, Mikasa.” He moved forward—and then he had her in his arms, embracing her through the bars. His large hand cradled the back of her bandaged head as the other wrapped around her back, holding her as closely as he could. “We looked everywhere for you—just shut up.” He hissed, his growl shaky, and he saw them both tremble as they clung to one another. “You’re so stupid.”

She wrapped her good arm around his broad back, pressing her face into his chest, the low light of the lantern highlighting the slip of tears that dripped off her skin.

Levi only looked away.

* * *

 

“Stop, Levi.” Mikasa had an arm wrapped around him tightly, both cradling and restraining, fingers biting into his wrists and pulling his hands away from his throat. The cell was nearly pitch black except for the dull moonlight creeping in from the small barred window high upon the brick wall, reminding him that he was trapped underground.

The images from the nightmare still sifted before his eyes; he’d been thrown into a dungeon deep underneath the ground, chained and gagged, the body of Claude tied next to him, rotting and festering with every passing hour. The maggots and roaches kept bubbling from boils upon Claude’s dead flesh, moving over to him once they’d finished, picking and chewing at his flesh.

And as he’d tried to rip them off his skin he saw Claude’s body slowly turn into that of a woman’s, long black hair and slim form broken on the floor beside him.

 “Levi.” Mikasa murmured, pressing her palm over his thrashing heart. “Wake up.” His head was cradled against her stomach, her legs on either side of his torso, her knees drawn up almost protectively. She pressed the words against his temple, her quiet voice soothing him. “You were dreaming.”

He blinked rapidly, turning to press his face against her chest, inhaling her scent deeply, struggling to gather his composure. A bad dream, a fracture in his defense, the knife slipping in beneath the silk of his sleep.

“You’re fine, Levi.” She murmured.

She was trying to comfort him. The way she had that night he’d fallen asleep by her bed, when she’d found him restless on his chair. He could recall the way her fingertips had traced over his jaw and cheekbones, the way the gentle touch had both soothed and stirred him.

And as he’d continued to have nightmares plague him he’d often found himself wishing he’d wake to her beside him, sereneness and controlled power, gentle enough to lull him, powerful enough to restrain him.

 “I’m fine.” He rasped.

She shook her head and suddenly stiffened, shutting her eyes and touching her aching head.

“Idiot.” He muttered.

She didn’t release him, sitting on the bed awkwardly, half sitting up, half on her side. Maybe it was because he was terribly tired, or the dream had wrung him of his usual guard or perhaps it was because she’d been the only one who’d ever woken him from his terrible nightmares—but he couldn’t quite stomach the thought of her moving away just then.

He swallowed, shifting onto his side and twisting her to hers. He felt her watching him as he adjusted their bodies against one another, her hands gripping his shoulders for purchase. He wrapped his arms around her waist, his face still pressed to her stomach as her thigh hooked over his side. His shaking quieted after several heart pounding seconds, his eyes luring shut as she threaded her fingers through his hair, her nails scratching at his scalp.

“I’ll stay.” She murmured into the dark, answering the question he hadn’t been able to bring himself to voice.

He fell asleep with his arms wrapped around her.  

* * *

 

Mikasa woke a few hours later, finding their positions reversed, Levi sprawled on his back and her head upon his chest. She stirred, lifting her head—but his hand kept her face pressed against his hard chest.

“Go back to sleep.” He threaded his fingers into her hair lightly, fingertips pressing into her achy temples. “The sun hasn’t risen yet.”

There was a pale gray light coming from the small window above, leeching his blue eyes of color. In her half dazed state she admitted they looked eerie, painted silver and framed by black lashes. His gaze lowered to her nose and mouth, flickering over her arm as she slung it over his stomach.

She shut her eyes, letting his warmth lure her back under.

* * *

 

Days passed and Mikasa and Levi barely spoke even as they gravitated towards each other, finding themselves sitting across or beside one another silently, an unspoken acknowledgement underneath their silences, a shared guilt beneath their stoic facades. They’d been ordered to stay put until they healed, and while everyone else was about performing their duties and going on missions without them they often found themselves alone—yet together.

“She has no other family.” A young girl reported to Levi a little nervously, glancing at Mikasa who quietly sat in the chair across from his desk. She’d found them both sitting in his office, cups of cold tea and sheets strewn about everywhere. “She left everything to you.” She handed Levi a long, thick envelope. “She had a shop and she also had a small house in the district that she moved out of when her husband and daughter died. She refused to sell it. It hasn’t been lived in for years so it may be in pretty bad shape.”

Levi slowly opened the envelope as the girl spoke, dark blue eyes carefully blank as he read its contents.

The girl fidgeted as she waited for Levi to speak.

“Have the criminals given their statement?” Mikasa asked quietly, seeing Levi lift his head at that. It had been a quick ordeal but she had wanted to receive more information then she had—it had seemed much too easy, and the way Levi had remained tight lipped about it made her edgy.  

The girl shook her head. “No. Or, I believe they have but the military police have yet to turn it in. I don’t think they’ll trouble themselves with such things in all honesty.” She wrung her hands together and Levi straightened, looking tight lipped and hollow. “They did inform me, however, that she’s set to be burned tomorrow at—”

“She didn’t want to be burned.” Levi folded the letters, neatly placing them back into their envelope. “She wanted to be buried.”

“Yes,” The girl nodded, frowning. “We know. But burying them is expensive and there is no one—”

“She will be buried.” Levi’s veneer cracked, pulsing red ebbing beneath the steel gray of his exterior. “ _Underneath_ the ground. Is it that difficult to understand?”

“But it costs—”

“ _I know what it costs._ ” Levi inhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose and grappling for control when the girl flinched. “I’ll pay for it. Her shop can be sold to cover any expenses. I have no need of it anyway.” His throat worked. “Gather the paperwork and bring it to me as soon as you get it. I want this done before the next mission.”

“But our next mission is only…” The girl nodded quickly when he gave her a glare, her eyes downcast. “Of course.”

She left as quietly as she had come.

Mikasa watched Levi silently for several moments, saw him struggle to stem his emotions. She looked away, crossing her arms and grimacing when she stretched her wounded elbow. “I would like to pay for half the costs.”

“No.”

Her hard gaze caught his. “It wasn’t a plea, Levi.”

Levi’s mouth pressed into a thin line, dark purple bruises beneath his eyes, lines of strain and fatigue aging him terribly. He’d given her a hard time, along with Eren and Armin, refusing to let her lift even a simple dish—and she wondered if anyone had looked after him, also.

 “You knew her for _two_ days. You barely spoke to her. Are you going to pretend her death meant something to you?”

Her blunt fingernails dug into the wooden handles of her chair, jaw hard—the action making her head ache sharply.

_She died for my sake. She died the way my mother did. She combed my hair and she fed me and it’s the least I can do._

She didn’t speak the words, let them fester underneath her indifferent façade until it began to boil. Why _did_ she follow him? Why did she find _him_ beside or behind _her_ at odd hours, why did they sit at the dinner table together when they had no appetite—why did they cling to each other even when they couldn’t bear to look one another in the eye? Was it guilt? Because they knew they’d failed to protect her or because her death had been one of the many they’d dealt with? Was it because they’d cracked before each other and _with_ each other and it had been as mesmerizing as it had been terrifying?

There were too many questions, too much confusion and wrath swirling beneath her flushed skin, and she struggled to regain her composure.

She stood, moving towards the door.

“Mikasa.” Levi called, his voice softer, vulnerable.

She inhaled shakily, looking over her shoulder. She saw him turned away, his blue eyes latched onto the window, the sun set colored in streaks of pink and purple. He looked much younger suddenly, much more exposed and vulnerable, slightly disheveled, cravat missing. He held the envelope in his hand, fingertips crimpling the paper quietly and he looked as if he was tearing himself apart.

It was a rare thing, she knew, seeing what he felt underneath the ever impassive mask he always wore. It held her rooted to the spot helplessly.

“There’s…” He breathed, tightly, slipping the envelope into the drawer and shutting it with a snap. “Forgive me.” He closed his eyes. “There isn’t anyone else who…” His throat worked, and she found herself transfixed by the way the shadows and soft lights played over it. “Anyone else who knew her.”

Mikasa’s hand fell away from the handle.

_Forgive me._

She stayed.


	7. Untether

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated two chapters in one night. They're both rather lengthy so I'm sorry. Also, this chapter gets rather explicit so feel free to skip over to ffnet if that isn't your cup of tea. The censored chapter is there.  
> I feel a need to thank three people in particular (on tumblr) because if they hadn't encouraged me the way they had I think I would have dropped this story out of sheer anxiety of disappointing everyone.  
> (you'll find my photo under the definition of nervous wreck)  
> beautiful-illusion-wonder, megillien and mikasa-ism  
> Thank you. Rather, when anyone encourages me I take it quite to heart. I hope you don't find this terribly inadequate for the wait.

 

 

It came as no surprise that Levi and Mikasa were the only two who attended the burial. They stayed through the entire ceremony, silently watching as every shovel of soil tucked Sophia neatly underneath their feet, every soft scrape both grating and soothing.

They left the burial late afternoon, leaving a small bunch of flowers the exact shade of Sophia’s eyes, a cut spool holding the stems together awkwardly.

They mounted their horses, their pace slow and measured as they wound their way back home. Her head was no longer bandaged and most of his own bandages were gone also—but their bodies were still tender, bruises running deep into the muscle and perhaps that was the reason their pace was so leisurely.

Or perhaps, she admitted to herself, seeing him painted gold in the dying rays of sun, his hair windswept and in bad need of a proper haircut and clothes in slight disarray—was something she wanted to relish for as long as he’d allow it.

 Mikasa would almost think the combination of the lonely stretch of road and colorful sunset would have bordered on romantic if they weren’t so heavy, bones cracked and fractured with bitterness and regret.

About midway into their trek home Levi broke the thick silence, surprising her. “I’ve known Sophia for most of my life.” He paused, as if wasn’t sure if he should continue. “I met her when I was just a boy.”

Mikasa watched his expression carefully, waiting for him to unlock his own chains, encouraging him with her silence.

“I broke into her place on a cold night. It was one of the worst snow storms of the winter and I was usually good with finding a place to stay but they were all cramped with the other rift raft that lived on the streets. I knew Sophia didn’t always stay in her shop, that she had another home. I was cold and filthy enough to risk it.” A bitter smile touched his mouth, the sunlight deepening the stormy blue of his eyes. “I slept full and warm and I woke with her beating me blind.”

He lifted his head into the breeze that passed over them. “She tried to take me in but I never had any of it. Neither did she try very hard. I was too much work.” He shrugged. “She’d give me a spare shirt or jacket every now and then, sew up the holes I always made in them, taught me how to sew a thing or two myself.” He touched his cravat lightly, and though he did not say it she knew it was a token of their relationship.

Mikasa had always wondered about the life Levi had lived when he was younger, had heard only rumors of its darkness. Claude had only been a glimpse of it and she had not pressed for details in their moments alone together. She did not need them. “Brave of her, then.” She murmured quietly. 

Levi’s gaze lowered. “I told her associating with me could be disastrous for her but she always said she was too old for anyone to hurt her. Idiot, really.”

Levi continued to prattle on, telling her small stories of her unorthodox methods of caring for him—and while he said them with disparage she knew that these small charities had struck him deeply as a bereft child, that he had carried that gratitude with him as he’d become a man. She knew that all of it had made her death all the more painful.

“I knew,” He finally finished, voice as tight as his clenched fists, reins wrapped about his knuckles tightly. “I knew that I risked her life—her family’s—every time I sought her.” His gaze was clouded, inverted, lost within a bitter memory. “I was selfish.”

She didn’t comfort him, perhaps because the way he spoke his words, tone brimming with bitterness—regret etched across his features—spoke not only of Sophia’s death but of many others, of names she’d never know of.

“How’s your arm?” He asked suddenly, clearing his throat. “And your head?”

She looked down to her arm, clenching her fist and bending her elbow experimentally. “It’s fine. My head…” She looked back up, straight ahead. “I’ve healed fine.” He’d often asked for her health and she found the repetition slightly irritating. If anything had really bothered her it had been the pain in her ear that had plagued her the nights after the incident with Claude—but it had waned enough.

Levi kept his gaze on her arm and shoulder, eyes trailing up and watching her expression carefully. “That brick was for me.”

She recalled the boy, the looks from the crowd, the odd sense of protectiveness that had welled up within her. She’d constantly told herself that she could only feel those things for Eren and Armin but her body had proven her wrong time and time again; moving to save Sasha, Historia, countless others—and now Levi.

Perhaps…perhaps she was not as pitiless as she’d made herself to be.

Perhaps neither of them really was, even if heartless was what they were very well capable of.

 “It was for the both of us.” There was one question however, that had refused to fade away, pushing at her insides until she gave it voice. “Claude…” She saw him tense, asking the question anyway. “Are you angry that I killed him?”

His mouth pressed together. “No. Claude was…” His horse shifted warily, as if sensing his unease. “Claude was like me, then, a child doing what he had to do to survive. I might have ended up like him if Erwin hadn’t caught me.”

She pondered his answer, wondering how things would have wound up if it had been Levi who had been the leader of the thugs instead of Claude, a life where she had never known him. She wondered if he would have wound up dead at her hand if they’d met on that street, and she would have never been the wiser.

The thought troubled her more then she knew it could.

It made her realize that, despite the friction between them, she was grateful for his presence in her life. That he had not been left to rot on the streets—that he’d taken her under his wing and found her worth his time and effort and training.

Mostly, she was grateful to be able to call herself his comrade.

They were not, however, quite friends.

“As long as you’re fully healed for our next mission.” He glanced down at his own bruised hands. “I don’t want to pick up your slack again.”

She bit back her smile, tugging her scarf up over her mouth as the wind picked up. 

They reached the castle at nightfall, swiftly giving the horses food and drink, the breeze chilling them to the bone as they stepped inside. It was dark, a mostly melted candle lit by the doorway. They made their way down the hall silently until they reached his bedroom door.

    She should have continued onwards to her bedroom and down the hall but she felt curiously rooted to the spot, watching his pale fingers circle the knob of his bedroom door and hold still.

He had not touched her since that night at Sophia’s, since the night they’d curled together in their jail cell—had not so much as hinted at _wanting_ to touch her. She had not been able to focus much on that part of their relationship, either—perhaps only at night, when she was alone and her bare skin was pressed to the cool sheets, reminding her of a much rougher and warmer touch.

She’d grown comfortable with his presence, with his mannerisms and way of thinking but she knew a baser part of herself had wanted to learn him in different ways. She’d felt the lick of heat flare up her stomach often enough; when he brushed against her, when his eyes dropped to her mouth, when his tone deepened and he mussed his hair, the scent of him clean and heady.

_“I can make you feel good. I want to feel every inch of you. I want you to feel me.”_

Mikasa built her resolve, ignoring the way her insides jangled. “I can stay, Levi.”

_“Whether you can ignore everything and everyone, whatever everyone else might think, is up to you and you alone. As long as you’re sure you won’t regret your choice.”_

She clenched her jaw, the words bubbling up past her lips willfully, falling between them, stilted and wooden. “I can stay. With you.” She licked her lips, feeling curiously breathless, palms damp. “Tonight.”

She saw him freeze, felt his gaze touch over her in brief surprise—and then he looked away, back to his hand gripping the knob.

“Mikasa…” Levi murmured.

She held her breath. _Ask me. Ask me to stay._ “Yes?”

He paused for just a moment too long. “Good night.”

She kept her expression still as stone. He’d…changed his mind, then. She nodded curtly, pulling away, already numb. “Good night, Levi.”

She walked away, pretending she didn’t hear the way his breath caught.

* * *

 

_“Do I know you?” She’d asked him curiously, dark eyes sparkling prettily in the fading sunlight._

_Levi felt uncharacteristically shaky, licking his lips before speaking. “No.”_

_She tilted her head in confusion, her pretty black hair slipping over her thin shoulder, giving him the look older women gave children who looked frightened or lost. “Is there something else you need?”_

_“I…” He couldn’t find his voice, didn’t seem to know how to tell her what he’d been meaning to for months now._

_But it was simple, wasn’t it?_

_He’d finally mustered the courage to speak to her. Speak he would—he had to. He lifted his gaze and suddenly she was gone, a bloody smear upon the ground where she’d just stood and he knew, he knew—_

Levi woke in the middle of the night, trembling and choking on his own spit. He struggled to sit up, kicking the sheets away and pressing his bare feet over the rough floorboards. He dragged his hands over his face, willing the nightmares away, could still feel the slickness of the blood between his fingers.

He breathed, slowly, deeply, tried to remember other things; the cracks and pops of the gear as he flew through the air, the clean smell outside the walls, the slosh of soapy water as it ran down grimy windows and the taste of black tea.

He breathed through his nose, swallowing, letting his mind wander into other thoughts.

The feel of her open mouth, the softness of her hair and how lovingly her thighs had cradled his hips, the power of her body begging to be tested against his. She could swallow him whole, he could drown in her, and he was so used to being the one who did the devouring he wasn’t sure he’d be able to crawl back from it.

_You should tell her, Levi. Tell her now before it goes any further._

She’d asked him to be noble and it had been that that had prevented him from tugging her towards him, prevented him from dragging her onto his bed, from coaxing her open for him then and there.

But he couldn’t keep away. Not now, not when he needed her the most. She wouldn’t forgive him, wouldn’t hesitate to cut him out completely. Mikasa was loyal down to her bones and she would not forgive betrayal, had never forgiven it. After discovering the shifters among their midst—Annie, Reiner, Bertolt, Ymir—Mikasa had been ready to cut them down, _had_ cut Annie down and almost brought down Reiner and Bertolt. And, if the reports were true, had been willing to strike even Ymir.

He saw it in how long she’d clung to her anger after he’d beaten Eren, in how she’d vowed to harm him for hurting him—she did not forgive easy.

She would not forgive him at all.

There were too many tethers, too many reasons why he should keep his hands off of her, why he shouldn’t think of her, want her the way he did—but none of them seemed to matter in the face of their circumstances, in the ugliness of the deaths that surrounded them.

He’d never been one to be cling to righteous morals, either.

 _Moments of beauty,_ he recalled bitterly, removing the remaining bandages around his chest with shaky hands.

He wondered if he could have one.    

* * *

 

Mikasa woke feeling someone in her bedroom.

She had good instincts, always had, and she knew who it was even before she opened her eyes and found him perched beneath her window upon the ground. His pale night shirt was mostly unbuttoned, hanging loosely from his broad shoulders, his elbows propped on his raised knees. His hair looked damp and disheveled, several locks of it falling over his brow, curtaining the blue eyes that were watching her intently.

“You’re awake.” He murmured, his voice thicker than usual.

She slid to the side of her bed, tugging the sheets away from her, asking without preamble. “Why are you here?”

He pressed his lips together in displeasure but had he really expected any less? “You know why I’m here.”

She tilted her chin up a little, dark eyes glinting beneath the moonlight eerily. She stayed stubbornly silent, demanding a verbal answer from him. She’d offered to stay just hours earlier and he’d denied her—but he’d crawled back, and she would have nothing but his complete surrender.

He was just broken enough to give it to her.

“I thought I could be noble.” Levi looked away, his expression betraying the guilt he felt despite the nonchalance of his words. “But I want to stay.” He let his eyes sweep the mostly bare room, her bed, a nightstand, her scarf hung over the back of a chair. “With you.” He looked to her now, holding her gaze steadily. “In your bed. If you’ll have me.”

She said nothing, only watched him for several drawn out moments, letting the tension climb until he was half sure she’d tell him to get out—and then she rose, walking towards him silently.

She wore an artless pale gown that hung loosely off her shoulders, a tiny row of buttons lining down the front, the fabric snowy and thin enough to be slightly sheer. She crouched before him, her hands brushing his away as he reached for her.

He frowned, her fingers beginning to slowly unbutton his shirt, tugging it off his shoulders with precise, practical movements. “You’re still hurt.” Her cool fingers ran over his hard chest, fingers lingering over the long brutal lines they’d carved into him. She didn’t quite say it with concern, said it more as an observation, a doubt.

He caught her wrists, her look of reluctance making him speak. “I’m fine.”

She pressed the tips of her fingers into his ribs experimentally and he scowled, pulling her hands away. He licked his dry lips. “I’m well enough.” He amended.

She didn’t look very convinced—but he tugged her closer, pressing his mouth to hers, his eyes shutting as she slanted her mouth over his. He released her hands, his fingers slipping down her back and bunching her gown in his shaky grasp, lifting it up past the swell of her hips. She pressed her body to his, making his pulse leap as she sat astride his thigh.

His hands grasped her bare hips and before he could stop her she was shifting over him tightly, her hand tugging his hair to expose his throat for her eager mouth, his pulse leaping erratically. He was the experienced one, not her, and yet here he was, beneath her swift, greedy touch, letting her peel everything away until she had him exposed and vulnerable before her.

He tore his mouth away. “Mikasa—”

She slid her hands down his chest and stomach, slipping her fingertips beneath the band of his pants, lingering over his sharp hip bones. He inhaled sharply, feeling his body rush with warmth as she continued to tug his pants lower as she moved down. He lifted his hips, letting the fabric slip down his legs and off, bared before her impassive gaze.

He swallowed as she looked him up and down, her lips parting slightly as her breath quickened.

 _Desire,_ Levi thought darkly, a vicious bite of arrogance sweeping through him as he watched her tremble. He straightened onto his knees, cupping one hand over her hip and the other behind her neck, forcing her to lean back.

“Lie down.” He breathed the words against her neck when she stiffened, his lips brushing the bandage she still wore over the bite wound.

She gave a small shudder and surrendered, letting him lay her on her back on the floor, the moonlight draping over her prettily. He pressed his knee up between her thighs, nudging against her intimately, giving her pressure where she needed it the most. She dug her nails into his back in response.

“Levi.” She clutched his thigh between hers tightly as he gave another push, her hands clawing around his ribs, raking down his front, lower still.

“Not yet.” He brushed her hands away before she could touch him, his hands working at the buttons of her gown as his mouth caught hers again. She parted her lips for him instantly, letting him in as deep as he wanted, letting him drink her with the thoroughness he’d been unable to before. He felt her sharp intake of breath when he parted the fabric against his mouth, urging her to slip her arms free of the small sleeves.

He spread the gown over the ground beneath her, using it as a blanket of sorts though he knew it was not enough. He broke the kiss, sitting back and looking her over greedily, his breath rasping at the sight of her pale, spread form, vulnerable beneath his hands.

Her skin was flushed prettily, the hard lines of her stomach quivering with a mixture of nervousness and desire. He was careful not to reopen her wound, his gaze darkening as he recalled the way they’d had her tied and helpless on the ground, the way Claude had pressed a gun to her head.

Mostly, he recalled the way it hadn’t deterred her from disarming Claude, from saving his life and her own.

He hadn’t remained as composed as he should have—had downright lost it at the end, only vaguely remembered the dull thuds as he’d broken Claude until Mikasa had pulled him back ripping him out of the memory of seeing someone else dead and broken on the floor.

Mikasa reached up, tugging his head down and catching his mouth, demanding his attention, as if she’d seen how he’d momentarily gone adrift into his thoughts. He breathed slowly, shutting his eyes as she pulled him back to her, her arms and legs wrapping around him. She was almost cradling him except he knew better, knew she was only demanding he give himself to her, knew she’d be as ruthless as he’d be with her.

He bit her bottom lip, his hands pressing her shoulders back and forcing her to release him as he continued his perusal of her body. Her breasts were small, rose tipped and firm beneath his callused palms. He dragged his hands down her front, grasping the sides of her wide hips as he pulled her further onto his hard thigh, her startled moan making his jaw clench.

He dragged his mouth over the tips of her breasts, breathing over her before he parted his lips and drew her into his mouth. She said his name, strangled, one hand digging into the back of his shoulder viciously. Her other hand snaked between them and before he could snatch it she was cradling his stiff erection in her palm, her thumb sweeping over the head.

He cursed, hissing as he slid his mouth lower, letting her stroke him tentatively, tightly. It felt good—much too good—and before he knew it he was crouched over her and sweating, his entire burning focus on her hot damp palm, on the grip of her tight fingers.

She pressed a kiss to the pulse at the base of his throat, her murmur breathed across his collarbones. “Lie back down.”

He almost nodded, almost moved to obey her, the hunger sizzling on his tongue—but he shook his head, inhaling deeply and gathering his wits. She was winding him up faster than he wanted to go and he needed to slow himself down, push her up with him.

“No.” He pulled her hand away, pressing her wrists onto either side of her head. “Another time.” He caught her wrists as she made to move them again, pulling them back up by her head and catching her gaze forcefully. “You’ve had your fun. Let me have mine.”

She relinquished control with a stiff nod and a press of her pink lips, letting his hands rove over her where they would. He ran his fingertips over every inch of her, finding places that made her jump; her sharp collarbones, over the thin, sensitive skin on the inside of her wrists and palms, her thighs, brushing the backs of her knees and making her shift uncomfortably.

“Ticklish?” He murmured, the edges of his lips lifting despite himself.

She licked her lips, breathing shallowly, quickly. “Hurry.”

He lowered his head, letting his weight press over her squirming form. The feel of her bare body against his made him groan a little, her soft thighs parting further over him, the head of his cock brushing against her softness.

She murmured quietly at the contact, tentatively shifting so the head nudged in further—and he cursed, grasping her hips and pushing her back down to the ground with shaky hands.

“Mikasa.” He growled, his self-control nearly at its end. He should have known she’d have him falling apart, should have known she’d know how to untether his restraints with a thoughtless, feather-light touch and a tilt of her hips. “We’re not in a hurry.”  He breathed against her skin, crouching over her open body, narrow eyes tracing over her trembling form. He slid his hand down her chest, skimming over her hard stomach and between her legs.

She shut her eyes, tossing her dark head back as his fingertips lightly traced her, finding her only a little wet. “Relax.” He shifted back, fingers still lightly nudging her apart. “Spread your thighs.”

She obeyed shakily, flushing a little at his openly appreciative gaze, rewarding her with a dip of two fingers. He rasped his callused fingertips against her soft flesh, hardening further when she moaned his name.

“Good?” He asked, pressing his dark smile against her skin, fingers catching at her roughly, making her stiffen and buck beneath his hand.

“Yes.” Her chest shuddered, pale skin flushed. “Yes.”

He watched her lazily, possessively, reveling in having _her_ under _his_ control now. “It’s always better to take your time, Mikasa.” He watched her squirm before him, pale fingers clawing at the floorboards, reduced to a wanton mess before him. “You’ll learn that well enough.” He shifted, preparing to move lower down her body as his hand slid away.

“Levi,” She breathed, her hand reaching down to grip his wrist, keeping his hand against her.

He spoke slowly, her blunt nails digging into the thin skin of his wrist. “Let go of my hand, Mikasa.”

Her grip only tightened further—and he stopped the movement of his fingers, her hips shifting restlessly.

Her jaw clenched, her impatience amusing him, the word sounding pried from behind her teeth. “Please.”

He slid lower down her body, his tongue tracing small circles over stomach. “Release my hand.” He mouth moved lower, their hands blocking his path. He breathed against her wrist, watched her lashes flutter shut as his head hovered over her spread thighs. “I’ll give you what you want, Mikasa.”

She hissed—and loosened her grip, his wrist left with the blush red imprint of her slim fingers. “There you go.” He slid his hand over her hip, dragging her body down so his mouth could reach her better.

Her pale hands clenched, muttering something beneath her breath, frustrated, taut curses.

He nipped at her hip, making her flinch. “Try to hold still.” He instructed, his head lowering. His tongue delved into her softness with a long, slow sweep, dipping into her leisurely, his hands gripping her thighs and parting them for his head. She bucked beneath his mouth, the pleasure crackling through her with an arch and a dazed gasp of his name. She wrung one hand into his hair as he flicked his tongue over her, her fingertips pressing over her lips as if to quiet the strangled sound she made.

“Too much?” He murmured, hands pushing her thighs further apart, angling his mouth as he pressed his tongue in deeper.

“No.” Her voice was thin and breathy, and he glanced up at her through his lashes, watching as her body tightened over the hard floorboards. Her thighs kept shifting on either side of his head restlessly; parting when he pulled away, clenching when he slid back in.

“Stay still for me.” He reminded softly, breathing the words against her.

She was shaking violently beneath him, the heel of her hand pressed against her mouth to muffle the sounds he pulled out of her. He kept searching her with his tongue, nurturing the sensation until she felt she’d go mad. “Levi, I can’t…I can’t.” 

He pulled his mouth away, slipping his hand between her legs, finding her scorching hot and wet. He spread kisses over the inside of her thigh, nipping hard enough to leave a mark. He slid up her body, her hips arching up—but he shifted away, his palm pressing over her stomach.

She yanked at his hair, her teeth biting into his shoulder hard, making him curse. _“Levi.”_ She breathed, her tone a threat.

“Not yet.” He coaxed again, though he was almost at the end of his rope, too. “Hold onto me.” He slid his hands beneath her, one arm cradling her spine while the other cupped the curve of her rear, holding her against him securely. She clung to him shakily as he sat back, lifting her up as he made his way to her bed.

Her thighs gripped his hips tightly, lifting herself over him, her mouth devouring his once she found it. Her hands raked through his locks, the feel of her against him making him stumble as she adjusted her hips against his stomach, sliding down onto until he felt himself pushing into her tightly. He groaned, slipping out of her quickly and earning a painful tug on his hair.

 _“Wait._ ” He bit out, tumbling her onto the bed a little clumsily, the soft cool sheets billowing about their bare bodies as they sunk in, his weight pressing her in deeper. He slid his other hand back between them as her hands gripped his shoulders, positioning himself against her as his other hand tugged her thigh up higher.

He didn’t have much self-control left but he forced himself to stay still regardless, grating out the question. “Are you—?”

“Yes.” She cut in, hips shifting restlessly. “ _Yes._ ”

He kissed the thrashing pulse at the base of her neck as his hips surged forward, his hand sliding beneath her back, gripping her shoulder and anchoring her beneath him as he slowly sank into her. His grip tightened when she bucked beneath him, keeping her in place as he slid into her body, his breath catching at the ease of it.

“Don’t stop.” She hissed, her grip on his hair going slack at his slow thrust. He watched her expression carefully—possessively—as he buried himself fully within her, hips pressed flush together. She pulsed around him, cracking his restraint slightly, his forehead dropping onto her chest as he shut his eyes and breathed as best he could, scrabbling back for control.

“Levi…” She shuddered beneath him, eyes shut, brow creased—almost in discomfort— focused entirely on the feel of him inside of her.

And the sight of it helped him lock himself back into place. “Mikasa,” He called gruffly, throat much too tight. “Look at me.”

She inhaled shakily, lids lifting reluctantly. Her dark eyes shined curiously in the moonlight, her gaze heady and dazed. His hand slid down, catching hers, linking their fingers, palms pressed together tightly. He sunk her hand into the bed by her head, holding onto it as their gazes held.

 He arched his back, sliding out of her gently, watching her reaction carefully. Her lids lowered but did not shut, her swollen lips parting with the softest of moans as he sank back into her. He grinded his hips against hers tightly, a groan catching in his throat at the slick heat surrounding him, at the way her free hand gripped his hip and pulled him in tighter. He tried his best to hold still, his damp hair falling over his brow, pressing a quick hard kiss to her mouth.

“All right?” He bit out, his breaths jagged.

She nodded, almost calmly, her thighs wrapping around his waist invitingly as her hand kept urging him in deeper. “Don’t stop.” She repeated, arching her neck, exposing her pale throat for his mouth.

He pulled his hips back, surging forward again, struggling to keep a lazy, deep rhythm. He sucked at the side of her neck, breathing against the sensitive curve of her ear. He murmured a soft warning before he circled his hips, catching her at the right angle, a cry of pleasured surprise tearing from her throat.

He covered her parted lips with his, their hands clinging as he deepened his thrusts. It felt the way he knew it would, the feel of her beneath him, of them, of the power and ease of their bodies moving together. He was reveling in having her open and splayed for him, in feeling her thighs shake as she tried to grip him, in hearing the frustration in the pleasured cracks of her moans. She was not an idle lover, mouth and nails tugging and clawing, her long legs wrapping and unwrapping about him restlessly—and if he’d let her she’d have him beneath her in the blink of an eye.

But not tonight.  

“Levi.” She squeezed her eyes shut, her free hand tugging at the sheets fretfully. “Faster.”

He caught her hand, leading it to his back, urging her nails to scratch at him instead of the bed. He kissed her bottom lip when she did, groaning when she lifted her hips for him, letting him in easier, smoother. She hooked her leg high up over his back, the increased friction making them both jerk.

He slid one hand up behind him, pressing her knee lower.  “No.” He brushed his lips across her throat, slowing his pace, the brutal bite of her nails only winding him up higher. “I want you to come apart for me.” She spread her thighs further apart for him and bit his lip, her grip on his hand tightening. He squeezed it reassuringly as his hips snapped forward, roughening his thrusts. “Just like this.”

She moaned against his mouth as her orgasm struck her, her thighs trembling about his hips, her pulse skittering wildly. Her nails tore into his skin as she reached her peak, his thrusts quickening, riding her through her orgasm, his teeth clenched against the heady mixture of pleasure and pain. She bit his collarbone, clinging to him as his thrusts quickened, hard enough to shake the bed beneath them. His pleasure fractured through him, dizzying and crackling, his body straining as he muffled his choked groan against her throat.  

His mouth sought hers and she parted her lips obligingly, the kiss fierce and hard as the last bits of pleasure were wrung from them, their trembles quieting. He caught his breath and released the death grip he’d had on her hand, forcing himself to keep the entirety of his weight off of her on shaky arms.  Her fingers threaded through his hair, her nails scratching at his scalp, the sensation sending small shivers down his back as her tongue dipped back into his mouth.

He spoke when she broke the kiss, tongue thick as he pulled out of her body reluctantly, pressing the words to the corner of her lips. “You all right?”

Her dark eyes scanned his features almost curiously, lingering on his mouth. “I am.”

He didn’t know what that look meant but he knew it was a softer one then she’d ever given him, a tender possessiveness he’d never seen her show before. The edges of her kiss stung lips lifted sultrily, entrancing him, making him reluctant to move away from her open body.

“Did you think you’d hurt me?” She questioned softly, the pads of her fingers pressing over his shaky arms idly.

He eyed her beneath him, her pale skin flushed, knew she’d wake with bruises from his hands and mouth. “I’m not gentle, Mikasa.”

“Neither am I.” She ran her hand down his chest, eyeing the strain of his body as he continued to hold himself crouched over her. “I’m not the one still shaking, Levi.”

_Still shaking?_

He lowered his head over hers as he slid onto his elbows, amused despite his exhaustion, his mouth a breath away from hers. He paused before he kissed her, his smile dark as his fingers tangled into the back of her hair. “Are you teasing me, Mikasa?”    

She tugged his head down, slanting her mouth beneath his in answer, the kiss lazy and unhurried, the taste of her making him half hard again.

And if he was at his full strength he’d be very much be tempted to have at her again—but he wasn’t, and despite her challenge neither was she. He pulled away reluctantly, collapsing onto his stomach beside her, the cold air like ice on his overheated skin. “Brat.” He muttered, his hand slipping down her back, palming her warm skin with a languid fervency.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, but before he knew it his eyes were shutting, his breathing deep and easy—until he felt her shift away.

She sat up, swinging her legs off the edge of the bed, pulling the sheet over her bare body.

He frowned, a little more than sluggish as he spoke. “Mikasa…”

She made to move away but he grabbed her elbow, holding her in place.

She stiffened and he rubbed his thumb over her skin soothingly, waiting until she relaxed before speaking. “I’ll leave. This is your room, not mine.”

She looked at him over her shoulder, nodding towards her gown on the ground. “I was going to get dressed.”

He pressed his lips together, regretting having spoken as he released her. “You don’t need it.” It wasn’t as if he was going to bother putting his clothes back on—at least not now that it didn’t seem she wanted him to leave.

She ignored him, pulling it on and buttoning it quickly. Perhaps it was because she was younger and he wasn’t exactly _young_ himself but seeing how much energy she had left and how much he _didn’t_ soured his mood a little.

Or it would have if he wasn’t so damned relaxed. She crawled back into the bed and he pulled the sheets over them, admitting to himself that knowing she’d stay beside him through the night made him feel much more at ease. He slid his hand beneath her gown and up her thigh, cupping her bare hip and shutting his eyes, the feel of her soft skin soothing him though his thoughts were restless.

“Mikasa…”

He should tell her, he knew. But he didn’t have to. When had he ever been a good man? What did knowing about the past matter if it only brought pain and you could not change it? Telling her would be pointless.

“Yes?”

She was on her side, her hair splayed over the pillow. It had grown longer, he noted dully, the tips of the inky strands tickling his lips. The moonlight played over the edges and curves of her body forgivingly, both highlighting and softening her scars and bruises. She watched him perceptively, that same peculiar look she’d given him before. “Levi?”

He fell asleep only a moment later.

* * *

 

_“Forgive me.”_

Mikasa woke with a start, the words ringing in her head. She was not sure if she had dreamt them or he’d spoken them—but it was all a distant blur as heat spread from between her legs, fanning up her stomach and throat. She was on her side with Levi pressed flush against her back, his hand between her thighs, his mouth against the side of her neck. Her gown was bunched at her waist, her chest and hips exposed for his roving hands.

“I told you,” He murmured softly. “You weren’t going to need it.”

She swallowed thickly, parting her thighs when his knee pressed between them. He spread her legs, her leg hooking back over his. “Levi…” She shuddered, hands gripping the sheets with pale fists as she arched her back.  

“Easy.” He breathed, her breath catching as he slid into her slowly, gently.

She nodded, tilting her hips back welcomingly, shutting her eyes as he slid into her with just the slightest pinches of discomfort. He felt her body stiffen—as slight as the movement was—and held still.

 _I’m not gentle,_ he’d murmured, but his touch and voice belied his words.

“Relax.” His hand continued to work between her thighs, the rough touch making her heart beat viciously, her breaths short and quick. “I can stop if it’s too much, Mikasa.” He pressed his palm against her lower stomach and she clung to it as his hips shifted against her experimentally, his own breath catching when her hips moved against him.  

“Don’t.” She linked their fingers as he had done before, beginning to tremble as her pleasure built with every shift of his hand and hips. “Keep going.”

She felt his smile against her ear, feeling so full of him she thought she’d fracture. “Brat.” He breathed against the nape of her neck. “You’ll learn patience if it’s the last thing I teach you.”

He kept her anchored to him with his hand pressed to her stomach, her fingers interlaced with his. She turned her head, his mouth catching hers, the tip of his tongue running over the seam of her lips teasingly. She relaxed her body just as he found a rhythm that had them both shaking, muffling his name against the sheets as he slowly took her apart again.

* * *

 

Despite what most thought it was not a rarity when Hange became awfully serious. Erwin had lived and seen enough of humanity to know that people were not _one_ thing despite the comfort of placing a single trait upon those you knew.

It was something he’d often took advantage of.

“This mission…” Hange’s brow furrowed. “Will be dangerous. We’ll need Levi and Mikasa and they’re both still injured.”

Erwin’s lips pursed ever so slightly, his large hands smoothing the sheets of paper over his desk. “They’re well enough.” He shut his eyes, body weary with the weight of one who had lived too long and too much. “They’ll have to be.”

* * *

 

“Get me some food, will you Armin?” Eren yawned as he spoke.

Armin looked a little sleepy himself, nodding. They’d woken a little earlier than usual, the sky still gray with the lack of sunlight. Armin parted his lips to reply when Sasha walked around the corner, nearly stumbling straight into them. Armin smiled at her. “Good morning, Sasha.”

Sasha smiled nervously. “Morning.” She wrung her hands together, throat working. “You two going to eat?”

“Yeah.” Eren raked his hair back, cracking his neck as he spoke. “I’m just going to go check on Mikasa first. You guys go ahead.” Eren waved at them as he turned but before he could he felt Sasha grab his wrist. Eren stiffened, looking at her incredulously. “Sasha, what—?”

She yanked him forward with surprising force, nearly sending him tumbling into Armin. “Sasha what the hell—?”

“I’ll go get her!” Sasha’s smile was—despite its brightness—very strained. “Save me a bowl.” She paused before she moved away. “Remind Connie he owes me half his food.” She spun on her heel, walking down the hall quickly.

Eren’s brows knitted together, following close behind her and leaving a protesting Armin behind. Something was wrong. “I wanted to check up on her because I fell asleep early last night.” Eren lengthened his strides in order to keep up with her, a little irritated with the way she kept speeding up. “Is something wrong, Sasha?”

Sasha flushed deeply, shaking her head, brown pony tail bobbing. “No.” They reached Mikasa’s door and paused. Sasha bit her lip. “I’ll go in first.”

Eren stepped forward before she could go for the knob. “Sasha, what’s going—?”

Sasha tried to block him, squeaking when he managed to grab the doorknob. “Eren, no!”

Eren shoved the door open—and nearly slammed against it as Sasha leapt onto his back, her hands clamping over his eyes and blinding him.

“Mikasa!” Sasha shrieked.

He heard a curse and a thump, a muffled growl of ‘ _get out_ ’ and before he could get Sasha off of him the door slammed shut. “Sasha get _off_ of me!” He pried her hands away from his face, shoving her off of his back. “Mikasa!” He grabbed the doorknob but it was locked now. He banged his fist against it. “Mikasa open the door!”

He’d heard someone’s voice and it hadn’t been Mikasa’s. In fact it had been a very male voice and it had almost sounded like—

Mikasa sounded very strained as she spoke from behind the door. “I’ll be out in a minute, Eren.”

Eren caught Sasha’s wrist before she could jump him again. “Mikasa, what the hell is going on?”

He heard more shuffling within her bedroom and she opened her door, slipping out and shutting it behind her quickly. She looked a little disheveled in her civilian clothing, her hair slightly damp, her dark eyes skirting away from his. “What’s wrong, Eren?”

He gave her a very, very hard look. “Why didn’t Sasha let me into your room, Mikasa?” Eren felt a sense of foreboding spreading low in his gut, his hands clenching of their own volition. “What’s going on?”

She licked her lips before speaking, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I was just getting dressed, Eren. Sasha knew I’d just finished bathing.”

Mikasa had gotten a little better at lying—but she was still horrible at it. “You’re lying to me.”

“Eren,” Mikasa clenched her fists. “There isn’t anything—”

“Then why can’t I go into your room?”

“Because—”

He moved to her door but she grabbed his wrist tightly, sliding her body between him and her room. “Eren, don’t.”

“Just _tell_ me what the hell is—?”

The door flew open behind her back and Mikasa made a strangled sound—and oh. _Oh._

“It’s too fucking early to be making so much noise, Eren.” Levi stood in the doorway of Mikasa’s bedroom, shirtless and the button of his pants undone. “She’ll catch up with you in a minute.” He gave Mikasa a pointed look then turned away, letting the door swing open carelessly.

Eren couldn’t quite think clearly for several seconds—couldn’t quite _breathe_ properly—and as he eyed Levi’s mostly undressed form, the clothes strewn about the floor, the rucked up sheets and the nail marks raking down his spine his brain still struggled to come to the conclusion that was obvious.

_Levi and Mikasa?_

Mikasa looked into her room furiously—then back to Sasha. “Sasha, take Eren.”

Sasha nodded jerkily and before Eren could suck in a breath the door was shut in his face.

_Levi and Mikasa?_

* * *

 

 Levi sat on the edge of her bed, ignoring the glare boring into the back of his skull as he tugged on a boot. “First _she_ walks in on us.” Levi pulled on his other boot. “And then she returns with Eren who decides to throw a tantrum outside your door.” Levi pondered for a moment. “Good thing she walked in on us first. No telling how Eren might have reacted if he’d seen us like…” He gestured to the bed flippantly. “That.” Levi’s brow furrowed, as if contemplating Eren’s possible reaction.

Her words were frighteningly—or they would have been, perhaps, to someone else—hollow, airless and thin. “I told you to stay hidden.”

Levi threw her a dark look over his shoulder. “Why the hell would I have to hide, Mikasa?” He stood, sliding on his belt.

“Because I asked you to.” Mikasa grabbed his shirt off the ground, balling it in her fist. Just an hour ago she’d been twisted about him, an hour ago he’d been inside of her and she hadn’t been able to press closely enough—and now she looked as if she couldn’t bear the sight of him. “Because he wasn’t ready.” She threw the shirt at him, her tone controlled, her movements jerky and stiff. She sat on the edge of her bed, hands gripping the side of the mattress tightly. “Get out.”

Levi didn’t move, his eyes watching her closely, his thoughts straying as they slid down her body

As much as he admired how she looked in her uniform he’d always been enthralled with the way she looked in her civilian clothing, with the way the fabric draped over her loosely, how soft it looked in comparison. He could almost pretend they weren’t soldiers, that they were just a simple man and woman who’d found each other through one way or another.

He could almost pretend that their deaths weren’t lingering around every corner, that they bore no responsibility beyond their own lives, and that they hadn’t been driven together because of the usefulness of their extraordinary strength, because that strength had never really been enough.

He could almost pretend they were normal people with ordinary lives; could almost pretend things between them were simple.

 He spoke quietly. “Because he wasn’t ready, Mikasa?” He moved a little closer, tossing his shirt onto the bed. “Or because you weren’t?”

She shut her eyes. “Get out.”

“Answer me, Mikasa.” He stepped towards her, cupping her chin and lifting her face up to his. “Did you want to keep this—” He gestured to the clothes on the floor, the bed, the space between them. “A secret?”

She licked her lips, drawing his gaze to her mouth, his stomach tightening.

“Yes.” She admitted, his grip on her chin slackening. “This is most likely temporary. He had no need to know. Not so soon.” _Not ever._

Levi gave her a hard look, his mouth hard. “Well he does now, doesn’t he?” He released her. “You couldn’t baby him forever. I could care less who does or doesn’t know. Neither should you.”

Her jaw clenched, her glare cutting him deeper then he’d like to admit. “You wouldn’t.”  

He pulled on his crumpled shirt, ignoring the sting of her words. “It wasn’t as if I had a choice, anyway.” He began to button it quickly, words as terse as his movements. “We both know Eren wouldn’t have left until you let him into your room. He’s a stubborn fucking brat and not even you would have been able to stop him.” Levi tucked his shirt in. “But if you want to place the blame solely on my shoulders go ahead. Whatever the hell is more convenient for you, Mikasa.”

He left without another word.

* * *

 

 “These are the plans for our next mission.” Erwin pointed to a center group etched upon the worn chalk board, the squads gathered in the room still in their civilian clothing for the impromptu meeting. They all eyed the plan intently, some looking grim and most looking nervous. Erwin looked to Levi. “You’ll be leading the center group. Hange will lead the left and Mikasa will lead the right.”

Mikasa looked to Erwin at that, surprise flickering across her usually stoic features. They all looked a little surprised—but Levi had spoken to Erwin before about Mikasa’s strength and capability and it had only been a matter of time. She would be the one to replace him when he was gone, and her training had only begun.  

“Mikasa is…?” Eren swallowed thickly. “Mikasa will be leading a squad?”

Erwin nodded. “We need our strength spread out as evenly as we can.”

Levi eyed the plan grimly, seeing everyone tense at his next question. “Where will Eren be placed?”

Erwin pointed to the center group. “He will be in your care.” Erwin did not say it but Levi heard it nonetheless. Hange would be a little too reckless with his power and Mikasa would be too protective. Eren had always respected him and obeyed his orders and that made missions easier.

“I would like Eren and Armin to be placed in my group.” Mikasa kept her gaze fixed on Erwin. “We work better when we are together. Separating us would only—”

“Mikasa,” Levi interrupted. “You have no say in this matter. Eren will be in my team.”

Mikasa gave him a look that was all daggers. “Eren should be with—”

“He should be where Erwin places him.” Levi cracked, the entire room becoming dead silent at his low spoken anger. “You’re foolish when it comes to Eren’s safety. You think of no one else’s, much less your own. Having Eren beside you would only hinder you because you can’t control your baser instincts. Stop arguing, Mikasa. You’re much too young and stupid to doubt the orders you’re given.”

The silence hung thick in the air, everyone shifting uncomfortably. Mikasa made to stand—but Jean reached out, touching her shoulder gently and murmuring something in her ear. Mikasa’s throat worked tightly, but she nodded, her expression stony as she forced herself to relax back in her seat.

Erwin looked to the rest of the group, blue eyes sharp. “If you have any questions about the placement of yourselves or anyone else, ask them now.”

Levi didn’t look away from Mikasa, his gaze fixed on the way Jean’s hand lingered on shoulder, his thumb pressing over her soothingly. He’d seen them become closer over the years, touches becoming slightly more frequent but it hadn’t quite seemed so stark as it did now.

Eren spoke again, breaking the taut silence, directing the question to Erwin. “Where will Armin be placed?”

Erwin looked to Mikasa. “He could be in your group.”

Mikasa licked her lips and Jean’s grip tightened imperceptibly. She gave Armin a significant look and he nodded ever so slightly. “No.” She looked away. “It’d be better if he was in Levi’s squad.”

Levi narrowed his eyes slightly, her response surprising him. He’d expected Mikasa to—at the very least—attempt to have Armin under her care. But perhaps she wanted Armin to accompany Eren because if she was not there to prevent him from being reckless Armin _would_ be. Hange would most likely have Mobilt along with Erwin, it seemed—and Mikasa…as much as she never really thought of her own safety he was sure he could count on Sasha and Jean to watch out after her. He just needed to make sure they were placed with her.

Jean’s hand slipped away from her shoulder, his fingertips brushing the hair that had been gripped in his fist just hours ago.

Levi bit the inside of his cheek discreetly. He could give Mikasa that if nothing else. He had to. “I’ll take Armin.”

Armin gripped Eren’s sleeve tightly.

Erwin nodded. “We’ll assign the rest of the squads in the days to come.”

Eren and Armin looked to Mikasa worriedly—but Mikasa only stared straight ahead unseeingly.

* * *

 

“You shouldn’t be pushing yourself so—”

Mikasa swung her axe down, cutting the thick stump neatly in two. Sasha sighed as she replaced it with another, gathering the halves and tossing them into the wooden wheelbarrow.

“We need firewood.” Mikasa swung the axe again, as if emphasizing her words. “I need to keep training or I won’t be prepared for our mission.”

“We have a week.” Sasha grabbed the split pieces, sitting on the grass and glaring up at the bright sunlight. “I guess telling you to take it easy on your body is kind of pointless since you and Levi…” She flushed and bit her tongue.

Mikasa gave Sasha a very unamused look.

She looked away apologetically. She’d tried her best to keep Eren from finding out but she didn’t really think _anything_ could have stopped him. When the meeting had ended Sasha had found Mikasa and Eren arguing and Eren had stormed off, Armin trailing after him to try and calm him.

Mikasa had looked worried—but she’d hidden it quickly with her usual cool exterior, how bowl of food untouched. And as the hours had passed and Eren and Armin still hadn’t returned Mikasa had thrown herself into her chores with her usual dogged determination, mood black enough to keep everyone at bay.

Well, everyone except her, that is.   

“You didn’t eat, either.” Sasha reminded her. She looked up at the lack of response—found Mikasa staring off into the distance, almost as if she hadn’t heard her. “Mikasa..?” She tried again and Mikasa finally turned towards her. She looked up at her with a frown, holding her gaze as she asked a question she knew was none of her business. “Do you love him?” Sasha bit her lip. “Levi, I mean?”

Mikasa froze, her grip on the axe slackening. She reached for her scarf and tugged it over her mouth, looking perplexed despite the bite of her answer. “No.”

 Sasha looked away, putting the pieces of the split log together like a puzzle, speaking carefully. “How do you know?”

Mikasa stared at the scarred stump, features blank. “I don’t know.”

Sasha shifted uncomfortably. “Connie and I are—together.” She stuck the split wood together again. “But not really.” She knew loving anyone was unbelievably stupid—but he’d crept under her skin nonetheless.

Mikasa had, too. They’d all grown up together and the thought of losing any of them…

Mikasa watched her, her long skirt swaying in the slight breeze. “I know.”

* * *

 

“I’m not going to repeat myself, Mikasa.” Levi murmured his final warning. After speaking with Hange and Erwin and agreeing on the squads he’d gone in search of her, becoming more irritated by the minute. He’d found her chopping wood alone, stopping to readjust the bandages on her arm—when he’d spotted the fresh blood upon them.

And if she thought whatever had occurred between them would give her more leniency on his part she was very, very wrong. “We have a mission in a week. I need you in top shape. Reinjuring your arm is needless and stupid. Go to the medics.”

Mikasa ignored him, moving to pick up her axe as if he didn’t exist—he moved swiftly, kicking the axe away and grabbing her wrist, twisting her arm behind her back. She tried to twist back but it only made the pain flare up her arm again and before she could blink he had her pressed face first against the wall, hands restraining her.

He spoke very quietly. “You will be leading a group of your own, Mikasa—with Jean, Sasha and Connie. You will be the strongest and they will depend on that strength. Your body is injured and you pushing yourself will not only lessen your chances at survival but theirs. You can’t act the way you’re acting now.”

 Mikasa gritted her teeth, twisting her leg between his and hooking her foot behind his ankle as she shoved back. He stumbled and she spun, punching his still tender ribs and watching as he fell back—until he caught the front of her shirt, jerking her forward with him. He shoved her underneath him just as they struck the ground, his hands pinning her wrists on either side of her head, legs jerking to avoid her knee.

“ _Listen_ to me, Mikasa.” Levi muttered, ribs still throbbing, his teeth gritted. “You can be angry at me all you want. You can go back to loathing me—but you will _obey_ my orders or you can leave the survey corps. Your attitude will only get you and everyone else depending on you killed.”

She stropped struggling, her breaths jagged. “Get off of me.”

Levi remained crouched over her, eyeing the way she clenched her teeth when she spoke, the tightness of her mouth. “Are you going to listen?” He pressed his thumbs into her damp palms. “Or are you going to keep throwing a fucking tantrum?”

She spoke slowly, much more softly. “Get off of me, Levi.”

He released her hands, straightening up onto his knees. “You should go over every possible scenario with your team. Keep Sasha close to you—she’s got good instincts and she’ll catch anything you might miss. Listen to Jean when he proposes a plan—he thinks clearly when he’s under pressure. Put him in charge in case you cannot take control. Connie is quick, almost as quick as you—use his speed to your advantage.”

Mikasa stayed on her back, her scarf unraveling, pulse at the base of her throat thrashing. She stared up at the clear sky as she spoke. “Don’t use Armin to fuel Eren. Putting Armin in danger will only make Eren become reckless—he won’t be able to focus. Eren has gotten better at using his titan form and if he uses it make sure Armin stays close to him—on his shoulder, if there aren’t too many titans. Armin can lead Eren and Eren won’t be distracted by wondering if Armin is safe. Eren trusts Armin’s decisions more than anyone else’s.” Mikasa swallowed. “You’ll have to make sure they’re protected.”

Levi watched her for a moment then stood, dusting himself off. “Worry about yourself, Mikasa.”

He walked away and she was on her knees in the blink of an eye, his wrist in her grip, halting him. Her head was bowed, her hair falling forward and curtaining her features. Her nails bit into his skin, the pressure weak, fragile, and seeing such a powerful woman begging him nearly undid him.

“Please, Levi.” Her voice was just a rasp. “I won’t be there to protect them.” Her words shook, nearly muffled by the breeze. “Keep them safe. In my stead.”

He looked down at her, waiting for a long moment before turning his hand and breaking her hold.

“Mikasa…” He laced their fingers together, the way he had throughout their night and morning, trying to convey things he could not speak aloud. He swallowed tightly. “I’ll try…if you do the same.”

 She lifted her head at that, her dark eyes terribly perplexed. “Levi?”

“Protect your squad.” He circled her wrist with his fingers tightly and tugged, urging her onto her feet. “Protect yourself. Keep safe. Don’t be reckless.” He couldn’t quite bring himself to look at her. “You need to think about yourself too, Mikasa. If something happened to you your brats wouldn’t ever forgive themselves.”

 He could feel her examining him, feel the way her eyes lingered over his hard jaw and lowered gaze, a question hanging in the air.

But she knew, he thought.

She had to.

“I’ll try.” She murmured, repeating his own words.

And he supposed it had to be enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'm sorry for any mistakes.  
> I'm probably going to wrap up this story with the next two chapters, three max. It feels a little strange to think that my first rivamika fic is nearly at its end already. Thank you for sticking it out so long.


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